The Night of the Ice Cold Death
by Andamogirl
Summary: Doctor Loveless and Colonel Vautrain (from TNOT Lord of Limbo) get together to eliminate James West and Artemus Gordon. Our heroes' Nemesis will use a new machine of his invention and the ex-Confederate officer will use his power to transport Jim and Artie into the past.
1. Teaser

**THE NIGHT OF THE ICE COLD DEATH**

 **By Andamogirl**

Author's notes:

Season 3. References to the following episodes "The night of the inferno", "The night of the lord of limbo", "The Night of The Man-Eating House" and "The night of Jack O'diamonds".

Reference to my stories The Night of The Outlaw & The Night of The First Mission.

References to the Paleo-Indians, to the Clovis Culture and to the relations between indigenous peoples of Siberia with the indigenous peoples of the Americas.

I placed Artemus Gordon's date of birth in 1830. It's different from the date we can see in the TV movie "The Wild Wild West revisited" (1835), because 1) I placed my stories in chronological order, starting with season 1 set in 1873. In the series, the dates given don't match the order of the seasons. For example, The Night of the Whirring Death (season 1) opens with the caption San Francisco 1874 and in The Night of the Arrow" (season 3), a cavalry general resigns his commission as of April 6, 1874, and 2) Ross Martin was 45 when the first season began in 1965 and 45 – 1873 = 1830.

Many references to the season 2 episode The Night of The Lord of Limbo.

I tried to bring answers to The Night of The Lord of Limbo's big questions: Colonel Vautrain sent Artemus Gordon to the past, so why did Artie think he was someone else? A man called Jack Maitland? Why did Vautrain send Artemus to that particular period of the past? Why was Vautrain younger and Jim and Artie were not. Plus other questions left open with no answers given in the episode.

Sordo _: Hey, you are not bad for a gringo.  
_ Jim: _Yeah, what do you know about gringos?  
_ Sordo _: Not much. I try to avoid them. It's bad company.  
_ Jim _: Yeah? What about you?  
_ Sordo _: oh, not so good company either. I am a bandit. I rob a little. Sometimes I kill a little. It's not a very good living, but it's all I got._

"The Night of Jack O'diamonds".

Jim _: The colonel is a rather unique travel agent._ _ **  
**_Arti **e** _: And a most unusual magician, too._

"TNOT Lord of Limbo"

Warning: temporary main character death, graphic violence & torture (physical & psychological). Tissue warning. Time travel story.

WWW

 **TEASER**

 _Las Mesas,_

 _Texas, close to the border with Mexico_

 _El Zorro cantina_

Mounting Lockpick, the false Miguel Esposito (Artemus Gordon), dismounted in front of the El Zorro cantina and sweat pouring off his face, he tied his gelding to the hitching post.

Lockpick huffed nervously and nuzzled his master's hair in concern. Smiling Artie said, "Don't worry, I'll be careful," to his worried horse and rubbed his neck soothingly.

The (disguised) special agent of the US Secret Service looked around him: the street was deserted, or almost. Only two old men were sitting in the shade of some stunted trees, sat around a small table, talking and playing chess, protected from the blazing sun.

He entered the cantina shortly after – instantly appreciating the freshness of the place and sighed in relief. He mopped his face and neck with the back of his hand, without worrying that his fake tan would go, congratulating himself on having recently invented a cream based on a decoction of the chestnut bark, a long-lasting product which disappeared by itself after a week.

He glanced around him.

The cantina was empty, except for a pair of Mexicans sitting at a table and sipping a foamy beer. They were dressed in white clothes, but had a black poncho and a black sombrero de charro. Their hat, gun-belts and boots were decorated with silver geometric ornaments. They had silver spurs too.

He hid a smile. 'El Gato's men's uniforms… I knew I could find some of them here as it is the only cantina for miles around, and the closest to the border and territory of El Gato… Well done, Artie old boy, your plan starts well,' he thought.

There was another patron here. He glanced at a man, sitting at a table in the furthest corner from the door. He was dressed in a blue suit and had a black hat. He was drinking a glass of whiskey – and staring at him, his face neutral. 'Hi Jim!'

He headed toward the bar and beckoned to the bartender. "Whiskey por favor, and give me your best, the one you keep under the bar," he said with a Mexican accent, throwing a pocketful of pesos on the dirty counter to cover his drink.

Immediately the bartender, a big Mexican man scooped the money up and shoved it in the pocket of his threadbare apron.

Miguel Esposito removed his big hat and wiped away the shine of sweat from his hairline, then ran a hand over his fake long gray hair, smoothing it down. "I'm looking for El Gato, he said to the bartender. "I heard he comes here from time to time…I have a proposition for him."

The bartender pulled a bottle of whiskey and a glass out from under the bar and set them the counter. "Who? I don't know who this El Gato is…" Licking his lips nervously, he glanced furtively at the two men sitting at a table near the back of the room, before moving back to wipe some glasses.

Feeling eyes boring into his back and hiding a proud smile, Artie thought. 'Oh, I'm sure you do, on the contrary, and you just glanced at two of El Gato's men'.

He uncorked the bottle of whiskey with his teeth and spat the cork at his feet, to the dusty ground. He poured himself a shot, the auburn liquid nearly filling the glass and froze as he heard someone scraping a chair against the floor with a screech and he turned around… to face Jim.

Nose to nose.

He hid a new smile then thirstily drank the passable liquor, feeling it burn his throat as he swallowed, before it hit his stomach, a gentle warmth settling in his belly. He put his glass on the counter and took a step away from the bar. 'Let's start the show!'

Miguel Esposito raised an interrogative eyebrow and asked, "Buenos días señor. What can I do for you?"

Pulling out his identity card from the inside pocket of his jacket, Jim said, "My name is James West, I'm a special agent of the Secret Service… I'm looking for El Gato too. So you have a proposition for him… what kind of proposition? Something declared outlaw I bet… perhaps I should have you arrested and interrogated. And I didn't hear your name…"

Esposito smiled broadly, his chocolate eyes glistening with mischief, taunting the federal man. "That's because I didn't say it, señor."

His face turning into granite, Jim suddenly grabbed Artie's by the lapel of his jacket and propelled him against the counter, hard.

He groaned, his voice low, "You don't want to mess with me…"

Iin the mirror hanging on the wall, behind the bar, Jim saw the two Mexican banditos lower their cards and move their hands, slowly, toward their guns. "I'm sure that you know things about El Gato and you're going to help me arrest him… "

Esposito shook his head. "Help you? No señor! Never! Never!" then he chuckled. "You want to arrest El Gato? Alone? Good luck with that!"

Smiling, Jim nodded. "Yes, me alone." He suddenly whirled around seeing in the mirror the two banditos un-holster their guns.

He was faster pointing his Colt at them. "Drop your guns, now," he commanded, jaw tightened, eyes dark. Glaring at Jim the two men complied reluctantly. "Good! Now put your hands on your head and sit down. I'll deal with you later… But you make one move, just one and that will be your last one."

Hiding another smile, Artie thought, 'Now, let's start the fun part!'

He pushed Jim to the side, violently, and raised his fist. "Váyase! Váyase!" he cried out to the two Mexicans. 'I'm going to punch this gringo and…"

He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence before taking a steel-like fist to his chin and he collapsed like a ragdoll to the floor a few seconds later.

The two banditos fled.

Looking at Artemus lying out cold on the floor, he said to the bartender, "Go find the sheriff; this man will spend the night in a cell."

WWW

 _El Paso, Texas._

 _Inside the Wanderer stationed on the railroad yard._

 _Morning._

Special agent James West of the US Secret Service Division of the Department of the Treasury entered the parlor car his stomach rumbling with hunger.

He smiled seeing that his partner sitting at the table in front of a copious breakfast was still dressed in his whole Mexican bandito disguise, minus the large hat sitting on the nearest couch, he noticed. He noticed that AG his black, fluffy, kitten had claimed it as his, as he was sitting on the extra-wide brim, scratching it with his claws. Marmalade, Artie's white and tawny cat was rolled in a ball on the armchair, keeping a mother's vigilant eye on the kitten she had adopted.

Moving forward, he said, "Good morning, _compadre,_ how was your night?"

Smiling Artemus Gordon spread a layer of butter on his toast. "Hi, Jim! Oh, it was good. I slept like a rock all night long – but not in my bed, but in a cell, as you know." He smiled and asked, "Did you really have to hit me that hard?" And he rubbed his aching, bruised, chin.

Cringing, feeling a bit guilty, Jim took his place on a chair in front of his best friend, "I'm sorry, Artemus. But you asked me to knock you out in a fight against me… and as you take blows pretty good, I had no other choice but to hit you hard to deck you."

Frustrated and a bit hurt, Artie replied, "When exactly did I _fight_ you? Because I don't remember I did. You haven't given me the opportunity to do so, may I point out? You decked me flat out with one solid, rock hard uppercut after a couple of seconds! I know that I didn't specify how long that fight between us had to last… but _two seconds_? We could have fought each other a bit longer, like two minutes, and you could have hit me more than once you know… I'm not made of glass." He huffed and then touched his fake thick drooping mustache and long sideburns to see if they were still holding and they were.

Pouring himself a coffee Jim said, "I know that, Artie. You're tough and indestructible. But I didn't want to hurt you more than necessary. I don't like to hurt you and see you suffer."

Artie smiled. "Thank you."

Smirking Jim added, "Besides, I couldn't let an old bandito fight against me more than one minute… What about my reputation, Artie? I can KO four hulky men in ten seconds, tops." He smirked and added, "And my mother taught me to have respect for the elderly, that's why I touched you there and not anywhere else. Old men are fragile."

Falsely offended Artemus frowned and waved a stern finger. "Elderly? Old men? You may be younger than me _young whippersnapper_ , but I'm not that old – only 15 years older than you, Jim, that doesn't make me elderly. I'm 45 not 75!" he said with a thick Mexican accent." He smiled broadly and regretted it instantly, wincing and rubbing his bruised chin. Seeing that his partner looked a bit miserable he added, "It's alright Jim. I'm okay. That was part of the game. But next time try to avoid hitting my chin, even my teeth and jaw hurt… I was very lucky nothing was broken."

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Jim smiled and said, "No promises… and you are starting to grumble like an old grumpy man… But your plan worked, buddy, you said that you had a proposition for El Gato in front of his men, you stood up to the best of the special agents of the Secret Service… and you allowed them to escape. I'm sure El Gato will take the bait and contact you soon."

Artie nodded. "I hope so, yes." Copying his partner, he poured himself a third cup of coffee and closed his eyes in bliss as he inhaled the steam once more. "Mmm…delicious." Then he took a sip savoring the powerful aroma of the South American special blend." Sheriff Gilbert offered me a cup of coffee when I woke up lying on a hard bunk, in his cozy cell. But it was as thick as molasses and smelled like wet dirt, and looked just as undrinkable. But I drank it anyway, because I can't begin the day without a coffee in the morning… even a very bad one. But it can't be compared with this one – which is a new brand I discovered in a tiny import shop in Washington last month. It's just a _pure merveille_! I just bought one tin box of it to test it, but next time I'll buy a whole crate of it."

Jim chuckled, "You're such a sybarite, Artie." he took his first sip of coffee. "Mmm, you're right, it's very good. I can see why you love it."

The older man smiled. "I'm a sybarite, yes. I admit that. Life is short – and for me all the pleasures are good to enjoy, while I can do it," he said and he continued, "Speaking about the sheriff he released me about half an hour ago, at dawn, after he was sure that all the bandidos had left the town. I told him I didn't want them to see me coming back here. They sure would have suspected something. Banditos don't usually travel in luxury trains, rather they attack them to rob the passengers or steal the cargo, or both. That's why I hadn't time to change clothes and remove my disguise." He took a couple more sips and said, "I came back 30 minutes ago, but I took time to make coffee and prepare breakfast for both of us."

Eying the various dishes hungrily, Jim said, impressed, "And you can do miracles in 30 minutes. Mmm, it looks delicious, my compliments to the Chef."

Smiling, pleased by the compliment, Artemus bowed his head. "Thank you, Jim." He took another sip then used his free hand to straighten up his two cartridges belts that crossed his chest. "I already disguised myself like that once you know; impersonating el bandito Pancho… when you were busy playing with Sordo and my explosive Havana cigars…"

Jim chuckled. "They worked just fine."

Artie smiled too. "Speaking of explosives, my explosive fake bullet works just fine too! You just need a bottle of liquor, and boom! There's immediately of lot of smoke." Glancing at the cats, both sleeping now, AG nestled against Marmalade, Artie said, "Aww! Look at them, they're so adorable!"

Jim nodded. "Yes they are."

Looking at his partner again, Artie continued, "Of course I modified a few things in my disguise. I'm Miguel Esposito, not Pancho – because he's dead. People could recognize Pancho and wonder why he's still alive, and ask me questions later, or kill me like that Panchito character tried to with his men. Thanks to the smoke I managed to escape alive from that cantina…" He finally bit into his toast, finished it and said, "I am going to keep señor Miguel Esposito's disguise for now. I have planned to go back to that cantina this afternoon to drink a beer or two. And I'm sure that El Gato will send his men fetch me. I will tell him what I intend to do tonight: kill the guards of the federal armory in order to steal rifles to offer them to El Gato in exchange for being accepted into his famous merry band of bank robbers, kidnappers and murderers. And if he doesn't contact me today, we'll postpone the plan until later. We'll see."

Jim nodded. "In any case, I'll be there with a detachment of cavalry to arrest them – and you too señor Esposito – after you robbed that federal armory deposit. I just hope that their leader, El Gato, will be there too. Our orders are to capture him and his men and to put them behind bars. As you know they murdered thirty five US Army soldiers in the attack on a military post at the border with Mexico." He planted his fork in a slice of crispy bacon, frowning in concern. "You'll be very careful, right? They are a bunch of cold murderers and I won't be there guarding your back."

Cutting a piece of omelet with sautéed potatoes and herbs with his knife, Artie said, "I will be careful. You're not going to lose me Jim."

Cutting his slice of bacon with his knife, Jim said, "Good. Because it would be too difficult to find a new partner with your talents and then to train him."

Artemus gave a short laugh. "Thank you James. I don't want to die either, that's why I'll wear my bullet-proof vest. Because I'm sure El Gato will want to eliminate Esposito once he has the weapons in his possession."

WWW

 _Las Mesas, Federal armory deposit, midnight._

Miguel Esposito (Artemus Gordon) lifted the last box of Winchester 73s into the wagon then took a step back with a broad smile, tugging on his long, thick black mustache in satisfaction. For now everything was fine, as expected: he had 'killed' the guards (he had fired with blanks), they were still playing their role perfectly and the federal armory deposit robbery had gone perfectly well - and soon Jim and the soldiers would be there to arrest everyone, El Gato included.

He glanced behind him. El Gato, the leader of the banditos was standing in the middle of the street, framed by two of his bodyguards.

El Gato had observed everything since the beginning of the robbery, and glancing in his direction from time to time, Artie had seen him nod in appreciation.

He was glancing at the other banditos gathered not far from their boss, in front of the telegraph post, when he heard someone snap his fingers and looked back at El Gato.

El Gato gestured at Artemus, "Esposito, come here," he commanded.

Esposito complied and removed his sombrero with deference. "Si señor El Gato?" While prudently keeping his other hand on his firearm.

El Gato smiled. "You did a good job, Esposito. So, you did all that… just because you want to be one of my men?"

Esposito nodded. "Si, si, señor El Gato. I want to be one of El Gato's men. It means to have plenty of money and beautiful women, and be a feared bandido."

El Gato burst out of laughing. "Yes, you're right!" Looking at the older man from head to toes, he added, "After we talked together this afternoon, I did some checking on James West… I used the telegraph and contacted people I know in the Estados Unidos and in Mexico… Señor West has quite a reputation; he uses his fists and gun at the speed of lightning. I know now why you tried to fight him and was knocked out two seconds later. You didn't stand a chance against him." Still staring at Esposito, El Gato narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I was told too, that Señor West usually works with his best friend and partner, a man named Artemus Gordon. They're inseparable. If West is here, Gordon's here too. He has the reputation to be a master of disguise, a man of many faces... A man who can play any role to perfection…"

Feeling anxiety making knots in his stomach, Artemus Gordon rubbed his chin pensively doing his best to keep a neutral face. 'Oh! Oh! Artie old boy, I think you have been busted', he thought. He unconsciously touched his chest, feeling the impenetrable fabric of the bullet proof vest he was wearing beneath his old, dusty, jacket and full-of-holes-shirt. Yes, he was wearing his bullet proof vest alright… 'But El Gato could put a bullet in your head, old boy, did you think about that? A big NO,' he mused, feeling a shiver ran along his spine. He removed his hat to mop his forehead with his sleeve and ran a nervous hand through his long, unruly, fake graying hair, "Artemus Gordon? What does he look like?"

El Gato lowered his hand on the butt of his gun. "About your height and corpulence… younger though and he has no mustache…"

Feeling beads of perspiration roll along his temples, Artie realized that he had no plan B… and he was sure now that El Gato knew who he really was. 'Try to save time, Artie, Jim and the soldiers are not far away…' he thought. "I didn't see him Señor. Maybe West is here alone. That partner of his could be on another assignment or sick in the bottom of his bed, who knows?"

El Gato gave his best crocodile smile. "I asked my men to take information on you Esposito because I like to know everything about everyone in my territory. No one seems to know you. It's like you had suddenly appeared from thin air. Strange isn't it?"

Artemus swallowed hard. 'Showtime!' "That's because… I'm not from this territory, Señor. I'm from Mexico. I just arrived here two days ago."

El Gato suddenly reached out and grabbed a fistful of Esposito's greying hair and… pulled out the wig from Artemus's head.

Instinctively moving back, Artie cursed.

El bandito exclaimed, "I knew it! You're Artemus Gordon and you're dead!" while throwing the fake hair to the ground before un-holstering his revolver.

Adrenaline pulsing through his veins, the special agent drew his gun to defend himself but the Mexican bandito was faster.

El Gato fired at point-blank range.

Artie was thrown backward under the impact. His chest on fire he yelped, swayed and landed in a crumpled heap on the ground, limbs askew, before succumbing to unconsciousness.

El Gato raised his hand, "Vamonos compadres!" he said to his men. "Don't stay here! Be on your guard, it's probably a set up. Andale!"

He jumped on his horse and was joining his men when suddenly thirty soldiers led by James West encircled them. Shots were exchanged and a dozen bandidos were killed after a few seconds. The others were rapidly captured.

El Gato framed between two sergeants holding their pistols at his head grinned evilly when he saw a man that could only be James West kneel beside Artemus Gordon and roll him over. "He's dead West! I killed your best friend and partner," he said, then he grinned, proud of himself. "I had never killed a federal agent before… I enjoyed it _much_."

Ignoring the bandito's words Jim maneuvered Artie into a sitting position, holding his back. He gently slapped the other man's face. "Come on, wake up, Artie!"

El Gato chuckled. "Dead people don't come back to life gringo…"

His eyes fluttering open, Artie groaned in pain, slowly coming around. "Ooooh…boy! That close contact shot knocked the breath out of me, and that bullet … Ow!... is going to leave a big, nasty bruise on my chest… Ow!" He winced, touching his aching ribs and looking at Jim kneeling beside him he frowned, upset. "Hey Jim! Fancy meeting you there. I was expecting you sooner, pal. I've been waiting for you. What took you so long? Met a lovely señorita on the way? And you stopped to chat with her and drink a beer?"

Jim smiled. "You know me so well…"

El Gato dumbfounded, finally said, "He's not dead!"

James West stood up pulling Artemus Gordon up with him. "No, as you can see he's not dead, he's alright, he's just bruised."

Placing a hand on his chest, throbbing with pain, he grimaced. "I am _badly_ bruised. I was lucky he… he didn't aim his gun at my head…"

Smiling Jim patted his partner's back, "Said the _grumpy old man_ … Sorry for the delay, Artie, but there was a large herd of cows at the entrance of the town which blocked our way a few moments." He saw a cavalry Lieutenant heading toward them. "Good job Lieutenant Davidson. Secure these men and escort them to the fort. Tell Colonel Bridges that I'll send him instructions regarding the prisoners as soon as I received a telegram from Washington detailing them."

The officer saluted, "Yes Sir."

Smiling, Jim patted Artie's shoulder, "Good work Artie! Now, let's go home. You seriously need a bath and a shave and to change clothes. You stink buddy."

WWW

 _Later in the Wanderer_

Eyes closed in pleasure, his cheeks freshly shaven and already showered twice, Artemus Gordon was now enjoying a nice hot bubble bath in the small bathroom.

Holding a glass of brandy in one hand and a (non-explosive) half burned cigar in the other hand, eyes closed, he was humming contently in the bathtub as he relaxed, the warm water enveloping him, soothing his sore limbs, loosening his muscles, his whole body going lax.

Marmalade was sitting on a chair beside her owner, grooming herself.

Suddenly there was a soft knocking on the door. He opened her eyes and lifted his head, "Come in Jim!" he called.

The door opened and Jim appeared in the narrow walkway, leaning against the door jamb. As usual AG was perched on his shoulder. "Hi Artie, how do you feel?"

Artie smiled. "I'm fine." He pushed the thick layer of rainbow-y sandalwood scented bubbles of soap that coated the water away from his chest and pointed at a large red and blue bruise he had there. "See? I told you, that's a bruise, a big one." He rubbed his chin where a first bruise colored his skin in purple. "It's my second bruise in two days."

Smiling, Jim stepped into the smoky room and sat down on a stool beside the tub. "I'm responsible for this one, but not of the one on your chest. But I'm glad you had on bullet-proof vest. It has saved your life Artie. Without it, you'd be dead."

Moving the cigar to his lips, Artie inhaled, and then exhaled slowly, blowing a steady stream of smoke into the air above him. Then, he cupped some bubbles in his palm, and said, "I'd be dead, and you planning my funeral right now." And he blew them in Marmie's direction.

It instantly caught the cat's attention and Marmalade clawed them all, popping them.

Marmalade looked at her owner and meowed 'more! I love that!'

Smiling between two puffs, Artie pulled out his cigar from his lips and giggled. "She loves when I do that." He looked up at AG who was fidgeting and meowing on Jim's shoulder. "AG wants to play too."

Frowning, Jim said, "That's not funny Artie. I mean talking about your funeral." And he placed his kitten between Marmie's front paws.

Marmalade gave AG a cat-mom's lick on his head.

Suddenly serious, the older man said, "I'm not immortal, Jim. I have survived many injuries since the war, and a few drownings, some wild animals attacks… but one day… my luck will run out…" and he started blowing streams of bubbles at the two cats sitting on the stools eliciting happy meows.

Shaking a finger Jim said, "I forbid you to die Artie! I need you at my side, forever."

Bringing the glass to his lips, Artemus took a sip of brandy. "I'll try, but no promises." He sighed and added, "The bullet-proof vest is one of my first inventions, but it's my best invention so far. It has saved my life several times already." He took a sip of brandy and then asked, "Did you send a wire to the Colonel about the success of our mission?"

Moving AG onto his lap, Jim nodded. "Yes, I did, and he congratulates both of us for the capture of El Gato and his men. There was something else in the telegram we received. The President wants us to be in Washington as soon as possible."

Intrigued, Artie frowned. "Did he say why?"

Jim sighed. "Yes, someone wants to kill him – again."

WWW

 _Ulysses S. Grant's office, the White House, a week later._

President Grant furrowed his brow in concern when he saw Artemus's bruised chin. "Are you alright Artemus?" he asked.

Standing at attention, Artemus Gordon smiled. "I'm alright Mr. President, thank you. Let's say that Jim got 'carried away' by his enthusiasm during our last assignment."

Jim shot Artie an impish smile.

Grant caught the two men exchange a complicit look and let out a puff of bluish smoke. "I'm sure it's a fascinating story. I hope to hear it one day. Please, sit down gentlemen."

Complying, the two special agents took their place on chairs set on the other side of the President's large desk which was cluttered with files, papers and ashtrays filled with dozens of cigar butts.

Taking a letter, brandishing it, Grant said, "Two days days ago, I received a letter signed by a group called MEOPG group, MEOPG stands for Mortal Enemies Of President Grant, telling me that an assassin will kill me during my speech tomorrow in front of the National Museum. Of course after four attempts to get rid of me in the last month – each of which you stopped in the nick of time - I'm taking this new threat very seriously. Colonel Richmond already has people investigating that MEOPG group…Gentlemen you have until tomorrow noon to find that assassin before I begin to deliver my speech, not a minute more."

Furrowing his brow in deep worry, Jim proposed, "With all due respect Sir, you should postpone that speech. It would then leave enough time for Artie and me to find the assassin."

The President shook his head. "Impossible! A dozen ambassadors will be there, as well as many dignitaries from other countries. You have until tomorrow noon."

Raising a hand, Artemus proposed, "In case we don't find the assassin in time may I suggest you to wear one of my bullet-proof vests, Sir?"

Narrowing his blue eyes, a bit hurt, the President Grant shook his head. "I appreciate the offer, but no. I won't hide behind your bullet-proof vest, Artemus. Bullets never frightened me during the war and still don't scare me now that I am the President of the United States."

Rubbing the still-aching bruise on his chest, Artie insisted. "Yes Sir. But a bullet-proof vest is sometimes indispensable , Sir, to stay alive when you're sure someone is going to kill you."

Grant smiled. "Do your best to find that assassin, but if you can't, I won't be cross at you, because I have every confidence in Jim and you to assure my protection, Artemus. I'm sure everything will go well." Then he puffed on his cigar.

But Artie's gut-feeling of anxiety disagreed. 'I've got a bad feeling about this…' he thought. Something terrible would happen, he knew it.

He proposed, "Let's start with the people who would love to see you dead, Sir. The ex-Confederate officers living here, in Washington."

Jim nodded. "And I will pay a visit to my usual contacts…"

Tbc.


	2. Act One Part One

**THE NIGHT OF THE ICE COLD DEATH**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT ONE**

 **Part one**

 _The Wanderer, the next morning,_

Opening the door of the Wanderer, Jim discovered his companion standing soaked to the skin and covered in mud on the rear platform, pale, shivering and his hair spiky. He noticed that he had bruises on his cheek and forehead and a black eye.

Surprised first, he then frowned in concern. "Artie? Are you okay? You're all wet. But it didn't rain and your face wasn't in that state when you left the Wanderer… What happened to you?"

His teeth chattering Artie let out, "I need to get out of these clothes before I catch a cold."

Before entering the parlor suite, Artemus unbuckled his gunbelt and handed it to Jim. "I lost my hat in the River, but I still have my gunbelt and my gun." Then he started to remove his muddy, wet clothes, starting with his boots. "Yes, I'm fine – now," he said and added, "After a little altercation with a bunch of ex-confederate officers in that club of theirs, I ended up in the Potomac River. Brrr! That water was cold! They didn't want to talk to me and they let me know it. They punched me as soon as I showed them my identity card." He struggled to undo his pants and peel them off, then he dropped them on top of the pile and took off his corduroy jacket. "I was knocked out and I woke up in the river… They threw me in the water from the Lincoln's bridge!" He took off his favorite yellow shirt sticking to his skin and goosebumps formed on his arms. He added it to the growing pile at his feet. "I had to swim toward the muddy bank by fighting against the current… They're lucky I'm too busy to put them in prison for having assaulted a federal agent, but I will, later." He sighed and his shoulders sagged. "I am exhausted!" he shivered and finally removed his socks. "I hope that your researches were more fruitful than mine, because they literally fell into the water…" He pulled down the top of his long underwear, stopping it high up on his waist. Then he clutched his shivering body, in a desperate attempt to keep warm _. "Brrr… I need a hot coffee and some warm, dry clothes…"_

Slinging an arm around his best friend's shoulders, Jim smiled and said, "What I like with you, Artemus, it is that you always keep a sense of humor at all times. Come on buddy, don't stay there, unless you want people on the train platform to see you stark naked?"

He blinked. "What?" He turned around and noticed a group of people grouped on the train platform watching him, guffawing.

Embarrassed, he let out, "Great Scott!" and hurried to enter the parlor suite. "Bo-oy! I'm freezing!"

Closing the door Jim said, "Don't move buddy, I'm going to bring you some towels and your robe. I'll be right back." he placed Artie's gunbelt on the table and vanished behind the door leading to the narrow walkway serving all compartments.

Once Jim had left the room, Artemus removed his long-john completely and grabbing the coverlet on top of the closest couch, he wrapped his trembling naked body in it.

Spotting a pot of coffee and two cups on the table, he headed there and poured himself a cup of the black, hot, steaming liquid.

He took a sip and grimaced. "Gaah! Jim's atrocious coffee…"

He had gulped down two cups to warm himself up, when Jim joined him, holding in his arms a couple of towels and his thick, warm, emerald green robe. "Ah! Thank you!" He threw the coverlet onto the armchair and started to towel himself dry and then rubbed himself down. "You didn't answer my question, Jim…"

Taking his place on a chair, Jim sighed. "I didn't find anything… except a headache." He poured himself another cup of coffee. "I shared cheap whisky and bad beer with my contacts…" He rubbed his aching forehead and temples. "I think I'm broke… and I still have a hungover, and I've got nothing."

Now dry and dressed in his robe, Artie sat down at the table, in front of his partner. "Let's hope we'll spot that assassin before the President's speech," he said.

Concerned, Jim nodded. "We don't have any choice."

Combing his wet air with his fingers, Artie added, "I'll stay at the President's side, while you circulate in the crowd…" he sneezed. "You are faster than me with a gun, if you spot the assassin, you can react quickly enough to neutralize him."

Jim nodded. "Okay. Bless you."

WWW

 _Washington DC, October 9 1875, at noon._

Standing beside a street lamp, James West looked into the crowd assembled all around the presidential platform which was decorated with flags, scanning everyone's faces…

President Grant would make a perfect target! Very frustrated, he tightened his right hand into a fist. The assassin was there, but where? Artie and he had done their utmost to find out who he was and where he was, in vain, he mused.

He looked up at Artemus standing beside the President, close to him, his right hand not far from the gun hidden inside his vest.

He turned around scrutinizing each face around him, trying to read hate, determination and death in all those looks finding only respect and admiration. He pivoted, looking up at Grant who was beginning the second part of his speech.

Suddenly… BANG! A single gunshot echoed in the air and a split second later Artemus Gordon placed himself in front of the President, pushing him to the side, and reaching for his concealed gun, interrupting the President's speech.

He felt a searing pain in his chest, grimaced and tackled President Grant to the platform, protecting him with his own body from other possible bullets. They both hit the floor hard together. Artie's weight knocked the breath from the President's lungs.

Screams echoed through the crowd.

It took only a few seconds for Jim to locate the assassin at the opened window of the hotel situated in front of the presidential platform.

He pulled out his gun, aimed, and with one perfectly targeted bullet hit the other man right between his eyes and then watched the shooter topple over to the ground below.

Then panic stirred in his gut. He started running at top speed toward the presidential platform, zigzagging through the crowd, pushing people to the side, out of his way.

People attending the ceremony fled in all directions, amidst frightened cries and noises of loading army rifles. Immediately a line of soldiers encircled the presidential platform firearms raised, their eyes searching for further assassins.

Groaning in pain, Artemus managed to roll onto his side and with Grant's help he sat up. He looked at the President holding him and asked, his breathing labored, "You alright Sir?"

Blood appeared on his lips.

Ulysses S. Grant nodded. "I'm fine, Artemus, thanks to you."

Blinking slowly, Artemus clasped his hand over the left side of his ribcage, feeling something warm and wet spurting through his trembling fingers. He looked down and saw the blood pouring from his chest. Face strained in pain, and colorless, he breathed out, "I was hit," his gun dangling from his loose grip.

The Colt monogramed AG hit the boards.

Ulysses S. Grant gently lay Artemus down beside him.

The special agent coughed, tasting his own blood in his mouth. "It hurts," he whispered in a faint voice. "I knew I had a bad… feeling ab… about this."

He grunted and winced and more blood, bubbly blood oozed between his lips.

President Grant reached down and loosened Artie's ribbon tie before pushing Artie's hand away and opening his shirt to expose and assess the wound.

He blanched. "Dear God!" he said.

Grant gulped at the sight of all the blood pouring freely from the gaping hole in other man's chest and back, pooling under him.

He had seen many such wounds during the war and immediately knew that Artemus wasn't going to make it. The bullet going through and through, had punctured his lung close to his heart and there was nothing to be done he realized. Artemus Gordon's death was inevitable.

He only had a few minutes left, he mused, his heart broken.

Seeing the President's sorrowful and helpless expression, Artie knew. "I'm not… gonna… make it. Heard the bang… hunting rifle… I prob… probably have a hole… larger than a plate…. On my back. M' bleed-bleeding to death."

Grant raised a hand. "You're not going to die here, Artemus." He turned toward a Captain. "Captain Jones, fetch an ambulance!"

The officer saluted. "Yes, Sir," and gave orders.

Grabbing Grant's arm Artie shook his head. "No… no. I want to die here… at your side… Sir. It's my… place… I have always been at your side, during the war… as a soldier and spy… and after as-as a special agent pro-protecting you… and Jim… Jim's here… too. I want… see him."

President Grant nodded. "Alright, you're staying here, Artemus," he said as tears pricked at his eyes. "I'm here, son, and Jim will be here soon." Tears finally rolled down his cheeks. "He took Artie's trembling hand in his, pressing it. "You saved my life. Thank you very much."

Smiling weakly, looking ashen, his brow covered in sweat, Artemus whispered, "It was… a… pleasure, Mr. President."

President Grant pulled Artemus to his lap holding him tightly. He glanced at the cavalry officers now crowding the platform, guns in hand, forming a human shield to protect him, ready to fire then stopped his gaze on Colonel Murray, "Colonel, move the security detail at some distance please, and move back too. I want to be 'alone' with my agent…"

Murray who had been at Grant's side during the war nodded knowing that Gordon would not make it, and that Ulysses S. Grant had a father's love for the dying man. "Yes, Mr. President."

Panting, Artie blinked, trying to clear his vision which was graying at the edges, darkening. He didn't have much time left. "Mr. President, where's Jim? I need to talk to him… before it's… too late."

Grant nodded. "I know. He'll be here soon."

Closing his eyes, too tired to keep them open, Artie rasped, "Mr. President… it was an honor to serve you… an honor to be at your side during the war and after… I felt honored and proud that you had a… a father's love for me." He started shivering. "I'm not… afraid to die. I know… it's my time. I knew-I knew I wouldn't die old in… in my bed but shot dead or stabbed to death or that I'd die… in an explosion... It comes with the job. Sir, tell my mom… and tell Harry that-that I love them…" His voice broke. "Oh god… my poor mom…She's going to have a broken heart..." He coughed again, another wave of red-hot pain lanced through his chest, and more blood splattered from his lips.

Grant looked up at Jim seeing him jump onto the platform, gun drawn. "I will. Jim's here."

His face gray with dread, Jim holstered his Colt and sank to his knees beside his best friend and partner laying on his back, immobile, blood pouring out of a hole on his chest. "God, Artie!"

He was lying in a pool of his own blood.

Opening tired eyes, Artie looked up at Jim. "Jim, y're here."

Cringing at the sight of all the blood welling up from Artie's wound, he pulled out his handkerchief from his inside pocket. "It's okay, buddy, I'm here." He pressed it on the gaping hole to slow down the bleeding, making the other man hiss and cry out in pain. "I'm sorry, Artie. I have to do this…" he gritted his teeth, pressing harder on the wound, blood seeping onto his hand – and Artemus screamed. Feeling nauseous, Jim pushed back welling vomit. "I'm sorry… I don't want to hurt you Artie… but there's so much blood…"

His eyes, now glassy, Artie shook his head. "No… use. I'm dying J'm… " He rasped, every breath pure torture.

His strained face wet with tears, Jim let out a strangled 'no'. "Hang on pal, hang on, okay? You're going to be alright…" he said, his voice trembling with emotion, his voice hoarse with the fear of losing his best friend. "We're going to get you to the hospital and a doctor there will fix you up in no time. You just need to hang on, Artemus, okay? Hang on!"

Detached Artie shook his head weakly having accepted his fate. "I'm dying Jim... it's okay… Being shot in the line of duty saving the… President's life is a good way to die."

Grant murmured, "I'm so sorry…"

Placing his free hand on Artie's shoulder Jim shook his head. "I won't let you die. I won't." He was crying so much that his vision was blurred.

Raising a limp hand, Artie reached out, touching Jim's chest, where his heart was, while he struggled for air. "I have… little time left Jim, I want you to know… I want you… to know…" He coughed again spitting blood on his partner's face, his breath was coming in shallow difficult gasps were slowing "S'ry," he let out brushing his fingers on Jim's blood-splattered face, smearing it on his cheek while trying to remove it. "S'ry. Y'know… I always wanted a brother… Found one in you… Thank you for being my brother…" A last smile appeared on his bloodied lips. "It has… has been an honor and… and a pleasure to be your best friend and partner… "

Devastated, Jim shook his head and grasped Artie's hand. "Noo… don't say that, please. Don't, don't!" He insisted, his voice taking on a desperate tone.

Still smiling Artemus whispered, "Don't… be sad. It's not over between us, James my boy, we'll meet again in the afterlife…" he let out a chuckle. "I just hope there's good coffee up there. And a galley… no a real cuisine…" His eyes slipped closed again.

Frowning, Jim groaned angrily, "Don't say that! You're not going to die! I forbid you to die, you hear me? Stay with me, Artie, please. Hang on, don't give in. You're going to make it, you hear me? You're going to be fine. You've had worse wounds and you survived!"

Re-opening his eyes, slowly, Artie licked his bloodied lips. _"_ _I'm not gonna… make it this time, I'm cold, so c-cold,_ _"_ He whispered.

Immediately Grant took off his jacket and covered Artie's upper body with.

In denial, Jim shook his head. "No… you're not going to die!" His voice suddenly broke with a strangled sob. "I can't do this alone buddy, not without you. Please, don't die, please don't die." He gritted his teeth. "If only I had spotted that assassin before…"

In a last effort sapping all the energy he had left, Artie slowly moved his other hand up toward Jim's face, big tears running too down his cheeks. "Don't… don't blame yourself, this wasn't your fault… It's my time. Live long Jim, be… careful…take care of you… cats too. And thank you. Thank you for everything… love you brother. Tell… tell my mom and Harry… Tell… I… love them."

Shaking his head in despair, Jim cried out, "Don't die Artie! Don't leave me! Please! If you die on me I'll never forgive you! Please… _Don't you do this to me!_ _"_ and his voice cracked on the last word.

Artemus's grip on Jim's hand loosened and his other hand, slack, dropped to the floor beside him. "J'm... tired… sleep now," he managed unable to breathe, before everything faded to black.

He gave one final breath and died.

Ulysses S. Grant gently closed Artemus's lifeless blank eyes, staring unseeing at the dark clouds slowly moving in the sky of Washington DC. "He's dead, son." He just said, tears rolling on his pale face, his voice trailing off into silence.

His whole body trembling, a look of disbelieving in his face, Jim pulled Artie's dead body in his arms and shook his head in denial. "This can't be happening, it can't be true. Artie is not dead, it's not just possible, he can't die, the Great Spirit protects him," he said, his throat choking up.

Grant placed his left hand on top of Artemus's head. "He's dead, Jim," he said. He closed his eyes in pain his fingers brushing strands of hair away from Artie's sweat dampened brow and he murmured the first words of a prayer.

As Grant's words sank in Jim finally realized that Artemus Gordon, the most important person in his life, the man he lived 365 days a year with, the man with whom he shared everything, his confidant, the man who was brilliant, talented, witty, charming, and loyal, honest, honorable, the man he considered a brother – was his blood-brother, was dead.

Dead. Gone. No more.

Finally, Jim released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Yes, he's dead," he said in a low, broken-sounding voice. And his throat constricted again.

He wished he had died too. He wouldn't recover from this loss, no matter how long he took. He would be alive outside but dead inside, he mused.

His shoulders shaking, sobbing silently, Jim gently placed Artie's lifeless body on the wooden floor and he breathed out, "Godspeed Artie…" he hiccupped then he rested his forehead against his companion's.

WWW

 _Arlington cemetery, three days later_

It was dark and cloudy day, overcast with the threat of rain. A chilly wind was blowing through the leaves of the trees.

Everyone had left.

The military chaplain, had ended his sermon, the honor guard had left and the mourners: President Grant, Colonel Richmond, Jeremy Pike, Frank Harper, other agents, many actors and actresses, a few senators and Governors, and women had paid their last respects.

Lots of women had come, women that Artemus Gordon had met during his life all, of them wearing black and crying. The journalists were gone too, along with the photographs. Artemus Gordon's funeral would make the headlines tomorrow.

He was a hero.

Everyone had left but Jim West who stood there, alone, beside the open grave placed on a gentle slope under the shade of an oak tree.

Artie's dark wood polished coffin was lying at the bottom of it, the lid being covered up by dirt and dozens of white roses.

He couldn't help but see Helena's chalk-like face, Artemus's mother, again and again when he had told her that Artemus was dead.

She had been so horrified and devastated to hear that, that she had fainted.

Helena Gordon devastated by the death of her only and beloved son had had a mild heart attack a few minutes later and she couldn't attend Artemus's funeral. But she was hopefully recovering at home. Harry terribly affected too, was at her side, taking care of her, helping her, Jim thought.

Tears ran freely down Jim's gray-tinged face as his posture slumped. Agonizing grief and guilt submerged him. It was his fault if the man he loved like a brother was dead.

He should have spotted the assassin before it was too late. He should have looked at the hotel windows instead of the crowd… "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I failed and you died," he said as he blamed himself for Artemus's death. He pressed the US flag meticulously folded twelve times (he would give it to Artemus's mom later) against his constricted chest, tears blinding him. "Artie, I miss you, I miss you so much. I won't forget you." His voice broke unexpectedly on the last word, and he began to sob, head down.

Artemus's passing had left an enormous hole in his heart and he felt a part of his soul got buried with him, he thought.

He pulled out a piece of paper from right coat pocket and unfolded it. He read what he had written aloud, "In perpetuum, frater, ave atque vale. (Forever and ever, brother, hail and farewell.)", then he added, "Rest in peace."

He traced the carvings in the headstone with his fingertips. "Goodbye Artie."

It started to rain.

WWW

 _A week later, Arlington cemetery, at night._

Dr. Miguelito Quixote Loveless stopped in front of the grave.

He looked down at the white marble headstone, above it, and read out loud what was chiseled on it, 'ARTEMUS GORDON, MAJOR, US ARMY, MARCH 20 1830, NOVEMBER 5 1875, MEDALS OF HONOR. Then he laid a few wild flowers gathered along the road leading to the cemetery - on top of all the bouquets of multicolored flower arrangements completely covering the grave.

He took a couple of steps back. "You were a brilliant and redoubtable adversary; I will miss planning to get rid of you…" He frowned and huffed, visibly irritated and frustrated too. "He's dead. Dead and buried. He's really is dead this time….it's not a trick. It was I who had planned to kill him, along with his insufferable partner James West! I and no one else. Who deprived me of the pleasure of killing Artemus Gordon? Some obscure assassin wanting to kill the President! He failed and killed Artemus Gordon! What an Idiot! What an incompetent!" He made a face. He was furious now. "I resent that. I had planned everything! My _mise en scène_ would have been perfect… I'd had loved seeing Mr. West watch his precious best friend and close-to-a-brother die from exposure, little by little, without him being able to do anything to save him…" Out of rage, he kicked the bouquets of flowers and stopped when the grave appeared, exposed.

It was just a heap of muddy earth surrounded by white pebbles.

He walked around the grave and stopped beside Voltaire, disappointed and then upset. "Such an ordinary grave… for an extraordinary man…" He sighed, suddenly sad. "He was very intelligent, brilliant, gifted; he had a very wide scientific knowledge not equal to mine, but far superior to everyone, except me. I am a genius; he was almost a genius... He was a worthy adversary… and his death would have been unique! I would have offered him a beautiful tomb that he would have shared with his companion, James West, together forever…" He muttered a curse, angry and frustrated again. "I had my machine ready, all was planned, and it's not fair! Not fair! I alone had the right to kill him!"

He looked up then at the big man dressed in black towering over him, listening to him without a sound, like the perfect bodyguard and butler he was. Voltaire. Voltaire at his side again after a long stay in a state prison. "Just like old times… old times… time, time, time…yes." He snapped his fingers while building an idea. When it was shaped a smile appeared on his lips. "But nothing is lost Voltaire… "he said, continuing his long monologue. "Do you remember Colonel Noel Bartley Vautrain we met last month in New York, during the secret meeting of that group called MEOPG, Of which I was the guest of honor?"

The giant nodded.

Loveless continued, "All those who hate Ulysses S. Grant and want his death were there, and many of us were present that day." He paused and continued, "Colonel Vautrain claimed to have an extraordinary power, to be able to control with his mind a warp in the fabric of space that could permit objects and people to voyage through a limitless fourth dimension: time. He told everyone that he had used this fabulous power of his to go back in time to kill General Grant at the battle of Vicksburg… but had failed, because of James West and Artemus Gordon. Then he told us that he had traveled to the future to escape his burning manor house then had traveled back to our time his heart filled with vengeance… No one except me believed him. They all thought that he had lost his mind, except me. He wanted help to kill Mr. West and Mr. Gordon after his plan failed and he lost his legs a second time… No one offered him help. No one helps a lunatic. But I didn't offer him my help either, not because I think he's a lunatic – which he's not – but because West and Gordon are mine and mine only." He paused again and added, "I could use his help to save Mr. Gordon's life, in order to be able to kill him myself later, as I had planned to." He looked down at the headstone again. "Find colonel Vautrain, Voltaire. I need to talk to him. I have a proposition for him…" He smiled broadly. "See you in a few days, Mr. Gordon, alive and kicking – but not for long."

Tbc.


	3. Act One Part Two

**THE NIGHT OF THE ICE COLD DEATH**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT ONE**

 **Part two**

 _The White House, Oval office, a week later._

President Ulysses S. Grant exhaled a long puff of odorant smoke and then lowered himself into his chair, looking with worried eyes at the shadow of a man seated in front of him. Fatigue, grief and sorrow were written in every line of James West's ghostly face and he cringed at the level of pain he saw in the other man's hollow, almost dull, lifeless green eyes.

He looked terrible.

Grant sighed and said, "Jim, I already lost Artemus; I don't want to lose you too. I know that Artemus's death was hard for you, and still is, that you hurt, and miss him terribly and you always will… as will I. He was like a son to me… You have withdrawn from everything and everybody. I'm sure that you're not eating and not sleeping. Dr. Henderson came to see you two days ago and he is very worried about your health, both physical and mental, and I can see why… You look like a ghost, Jim. You can't remain in that state, letting yourself die little by little, already buried alive in the Wanderer, like it is a tomb on wheels. I'm sure that Artemus would not want this to happen."

His eyes riveted on the desk in front of him, but seeing nothing, Jim whispered. "Sometimes I could swear Artie's still there with me in the Wanderer, working on a new device in his lab… or preparing food in the galley, but he's dead, he's gone. Marmalade and AG are searching for him everywhere since he died… but he won't come back." He slammed his eyes shut and shoved his hand into his right jacket pocket, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of Artemus's watch (still covered with its owner's blood), keeping a part of Artie with him.

His heart sank and he looked at his feet with a dazed, unfocused look in his eyes. "Artie is gone." He pulled out a letter from the left pocket of his jacket. "I have something to give you Mr. President. I can't do this without Artemus… It's my…"

Grant furrowed his brow and shook his head. "You can put that letter back where it was, Jim. I'm not going to accept your resignation." He watched Jim do that, stood and moved toward the other man, ignoring the trembling of the younger man's hands and the smell of alcohol that emitted from him.

But Jim explained with a barely audible voice, not proud of himself, "It helps me sleep, keeps the nightmares away."

Grant placed a compassionate hand on Jim's shoulder, took a step back and sat on the edge of his desk. "I know, it's very hard to think that I won't see him again – at least in this world. I'm slowly getting over it… but it's very difficult. But I have to move on, and you too." He puffed on his cigar and added, "I'm sorry, but I'm going to be brutal, Jim. I have no choice. It's for your well-being. I think Artemus would be disappointed in you for acting like this, or rather not acting at all, letting yourself die little by little. I can't let you give up, killing yourself gradually like this. You have to get back in the saddle, literally. You must live again, be the man you were before this terrible loss. Your life doesn't end with Artemus's death. You have to move on. I need you; the country needs you. That's why Colonel Richmond has a new assignment for you. And you will accept it, I'm not giving you a choice, that's a direct order."

Jim nodded absently. "Yes, Sir."

Maybe someday he'll feel okay again, he thought. 'But not anytime soon.'

Grant nodded. "Good." He added, "Colonel Richmond received a report from Jeremy Pike. He spotted Dr. Loveless and accompanied by a certain Colonel Vautrain at the Phoenix's railroad station, this morning. He followed them – but they vanished inside the Golden Eagle hotel. He searched for them for a couple of hours but didn't find them. Loveless is planning trouble again, without a doubt. When I read Vautrain's name I remembered the personal report Artemus wrote, after you gave the official version to Colonel Falk. He wanted to tell me the truth, even if it was unbelievable, even if there was no proof, because the corpses were gone… Artemus always told me the truth. He never lied to me."

Sparks of interest were now lighting Jim's eyes. "Colonel Vautrain? But I thought he was dead, that he had died in the explosion of his house, Live Oak Manor."

Grant shook his head. "He's still alive."

Still doubtful Jim asked, "Is Jeremy sure that he man he saw was Vautrain, Mr. President?"

Grant nodded. "Yes, he is. He looked at the register at the reception desk and it bore the signature of Colonel Noel Bartley Vautrain. Loveless and he are planning something bad… I want you to find out what it is and of course, I want it stopped and I want those men and their accomplices arrested as soon as possible."

Jim stood and straightened his shoulders, suddenly feeling revitalized. 'Then Vautrain is still alive…' he thought 'and his men too, I suppose. They have somehow escaped Live Oak Manor… Colonel Vautrain probably using his powers to send him and his men back into the past or forward into the future… Hum! Artie and I always suspected that, because no corpses were found in the ruins of the burnt manor, but we didn't have any proof to support this intuition, because the explosions and fire could have vaporized the bodies… 'Could Colonel Vautrain be able to send me into the past again so I can save Artie?' he mused. His heart started hammering with hope in his chest. Artie could be saved, no, will be saved.

Nothing was lost.

He blinked then looked at the President. "I will do it, Sir." 'For Artie'.

WWW

 _Loveless's hideout,_

 _The same day, in the evening_

Dr. Miguelito Loveless poured himself a glass of cherry brandy and turned toward Colonel Vautrain sitting in his wheelchair next to the door. "No cherry brandy, are you sure Colonel?"

The former Confederate officer shook his head. "No, thank you. Let's talk about what you want from me Dr. Loveless. I hope it's related to Mr. West and Mr. Gordon."

The diminutive man's smile grew broader. "Ah! Straight to the point, I like that." He sat on a chair resembling a throne and continued, "Yes, it is related to Mr. West and Mr. Gordon." He took a sip of liquor and said, "Mr. Gordon is dead, Colonel. He was killed a week ago by an assassin in the line of duty, while protecting President Grant. As I can't bring people back from the dead – yet – but it is part of my future plans, I need to someone else to save him in order to kill him myself, later, along with his partner James West of course, and that's why I want your help." He took another sip of cherry brandy and then added, "You see, Colonel, Mr. West and Mr. Gordon and I are old adversaries… I tried to kill them many times, but each time they managed to escape my deadly games… but they won't next time. I've planned everything perfectly in every detail. They will die, and it's going to be a slow and painful death, my favorite."

Upset, Noel Bartley Vautrain furrowed his brow. "I still want to kill them myself. I was heading toward the door of my manor house when they attacked my men. I came back to help them and that Union shell destroyed the grand salon… and that beam fell on top of me, crushed my beautiful new legs. I therefore hold them responsible for what happened and I want my vengeance…"

Loveless shook his head. "You won't kill them; that won't be possible Colonel, they're mine, _all mine_. It's a definitive no. But if you consent to help me, I could let you… _play with them_ … before their inevitable demise." He chuckled. "I'm sure that you've already dreamed about torturing them and…" He paused and offered Vautrain his best cruel smile. "I offer you that."

Vautrain's face contorted in rage. "I lost everything I had because of them! And again my legs are shattered and again I am stuck in this prison on wheels. Oh yes, yes, you're right, I dreamed of torturing them - and I will. I will make them suffer, a lot."

Loveless rubbed his hands with pleasure. "You accept my proposal then, good, that's settled, Colonel. I will send one of my men into that 'temporal rift' of yours so he can eliminate the assassin before he kills Mr. Gordon." He rubbed his forehead pensively. "But by doing that, he'll change the future… it means that Mr. Gordon won't die, won't have a funeral, but it also means that I won't have the idea of contacting you, and this conversation will never happen…"

Colonel Vautrain nodded. "And it means too that no one will help me revenge West and Gordon. I thought about that and I have a solution. It's not going to be easy, but I think I can use my power to create 'a bubble' here, so that we are not affected by those changes. You and I will retain what happened and we could continue our partnership."

Loveless rubbed his hands with pleasure again. "Perfect! I have a newspaper to show to Mr. Gordon… but before that I will find a way to attract Mr. West and Mr. Gordon here."

Smiling like a bird of prey awaiting its dinner, Vautrain nodded. "I'd like a glass of cherry brandy now. We have a lot of things to talk about – and I'm going to need a room to open my temporal rift… No one will be able to enter it except the travelers… Because it will be on the border between two dimensions, it will be the portal of access to the past, or to the future ..."

Loveless's eyes shone with excitement.

WWW

 _Washington DC, October 9 1875, at noon._

The assassin was standing, hidden behind a curtain, at the opened window of the hotel facing the presidential platform where Grant was delivering his speech.

Finger poised on the trigger, he had the President in his sights and was ready to fire… when the door opened silently. A man dressed in black, entered and immediately threw the knife he was holding.

Hit in his back, the sniper died instantly but in an uncontrollable reflex he pulled the trigger of his hunting rifle before collapsing to the floor like a… deadweight.

BANG!

And the bullet went off course.

Hearing the single gunshot ring out Artemus Gordon moved in a flash in front of the President to protect him with his own body and felt a sudden intense line of fire burn his left temple and his vision blackened. He swayed on his legs and finally collapsed on the platform, passed out, taking Grant with him as he fell.

Screams echoed throughout the crowd.

Immediately a line of soldiers holding raised rifles encircled the two men. The crowd, gathered there for the presidential speech, dispersed rapidly while other men in uniforms deployed all around the platform securing the place.

President Grant knelt beside the fallen agent, rolled Artemus Gordon onto his back and made a rapid survey of the other man's body searching for a wound and located one on Artemus left temple, oozing blood.

He sighed in relief. It was a graze and it was superficial. "Thank God."

Grant glanced at the cavalry officers now surrounding Artemus and him on the platform, guns in hand, ready to fire then stopped his gaze on a Captain. "Captain Jones, fetch an ambulance! I want Mr. Gordon to be carried to the Military hospital immediately."

The officer saluted. "Yes, Sir," and gave orders.

Somewhere in the crowd, Jim felt his blood run cold in his veins when he saw that his companion had been hit and was lying on his back, immobile on the platform beside Grant. "Artie!'

He resisted his urgent need to see how Artie was as he had spotted an opened window of the hotel facing the platform. Unholstering his gun, he rushed there pushing people to the side to clear his way.

He reached the second storey in record time and entered the room located in the middle of the corridor… to find a dead man, holding a hunting rifle. The blade of a knife was embedded in his back and he was lying in a pool of blood. Someone had killed the assassin… He was not a threat anymore. He left the room at top speed and was in the street a couple of minutes later.

He jumped onto the platform shortly after and dropped on his knees beside Artemus, slapping his face, not too gently in his pressing need to see that he was okay. "Wake up Artie!"

Grant removed the handkerchief red with blood he was pressing to the wound and said, "He's alright, Jim, it's just a graze. The bullet has taken with it a bit of hair, skin and flesh but it's not serious. He was very lucky again. An inch to the right and he would be dead."

Shoulders sagging, Jim closed his eyes and sighed in relief. "Yes he was."

Moaning in pain, Artemus slowly opened his eyes and winced. "Ow-ow-oww!" He looked up at Grant leaning toward him and asked, "Are you okay Mr. President?"

Grant nodded. "Thanks to you, yes. You saved my life Artemus. Thank you very much." And pressed his handkerchief against Artie's wound again. "An ambulance should be here soon to transport you to the Military Hospital. Dr. Henderson will take care of you."

Artie groaned. "Great!"

Smiling Jim, said, "I know a dozen nurses who are going to be very pleased to see you again, Artie and will pamper you." then he chuckled softly.

His vision blurring around the edges, accompanied by pain and dizziness and nausea, Artemus looked up at his best friend, and asked, "Did you get the man who fired, Jim?"

Jim shook his head. "He was dead, stabbed in the back, when I found him. I don't know what happened… But I will."

Feeling dizzy, Artie nodded, his vision now graying. "We will… O-oh, no, I think I'm going to…" and he passed out again.

WWW

 _The Wanderer, the next morning._

 _Artemus Gordon was sprawled on his back on the floor in a large pool of blood. His own blood. There was a gaping hole in the center of his brow. A bullet had gone through his head, taking a good part of the brain and of the back of his skull in its gory exit. His eyes were wide opened in surprise, but Artie couldn't see anything, not anymore._

 _He was dead._

James West abruptly opened his eyes, blinking the sleep out of them, his face bathed in sweat, his heart hammering in his chest. "Oh God!" he rasped _between ragged breaths._ He blinked finding himself sitting on the chair next to the windows of the parlor car. "What an awful dream…"

He turned his head hearing a light snore and took a moment to observe Artemus Gordon curled on the golden upholstered sofa, sleeping soundly, his bandaged head resting on a pillow.

Safe and sound.

Marmalade was rolled in a ball, nestled against her owner, her back to his chest and she was cuddling AG protectively. The cats were sleeping too.

He let out a long sigh as a wave of relief swamped him. "He's not dead, it was just a nightmare… but he could be dead… an inch to the right and he would have been no more..."

Smiling, he moved to Artie's side and shook his partner's shoulder. "Hey, sleepy head, it's time to wake up," he said.

He was rewarded by a groan.

He did it again. "Wake up buddy-grumpy-bear; if you want to eat something edible this morning, I suggest you prepare breakfast. You know I can't boil an egg."

Opening his eyes at the same time the cats opened theirs, Artie breathed out, "Jim my boy, you're a grown man now, so I think it's time for you to prepare breakfast." He yawned, Marmie and AG doing it too. "There's a first time for everything. But don't poison me, or I'll haunt you for the rest of your life and after that too in the afterlife. Now let me sleep because I need rest – doctor's orders - and of course try not to burn the galley down to the ground. I'm quite fond of it. And don't leave it in disarray. Put everything back in its place. Begin with the basics, like making an omelet. It's not difficult at all."

He closed his eyes while the cats were stretching.

Smiling, James patted Artemus's shoulder with affection. "Yes mom. I'll wake you when breakfast is ready." He was ready to head toward the galley when there was a knock at the door.

Changing direction, Jim opened it a few seconds later, revealing Colonel Richmond standing on the rear platform.

Jim smiled. "Good morning, Sir. Please do come in."

Pulling himself into a sitting position, Rubbing one eye, Artemus watched his CO close the door while Marmalade and AG leaped to the carpeted floor. "Good morning, Sir," he said.

Richmond placed his hat on the work table. "Good morning gentlemen. I'm sorry to wake you Artemus, but it's important." He frowned. "How are you?"

Raising his left hand to his head, Artie touched his stitched wound and winced. The graze had caused a minor concussion but fortunately he wasn't dizzy and nauseous anymore, he mused. "I'm fine Sir. I had much worse. This is nothing. What brings you here, Colonel?"

Richmond sighed. "I've just received a telegram. It says, I quote: 'Colonel Vautrain and I would be delighted to see you again. If you are interested, please join us in Phoenix as soon as possible. Signed, Dr. Miguelito Q. Loveless." He sighed and added, " It's a trap, of course. But you will make it so that this trap turns around against them. The President wants them stopped and sent behind bars! And me too."

Rubbing his stubbled chin pensively, Jim said, "Then Colonel Vautrain is alive… He was trapped under a big beam; his legs crushed by its weight and couldn't move when Artemus and I left him. I bet that he has somehow escaped the burning Live Oak Manor… probably using his power to travel back to the past or forward to the future… Hum!"

Richmond nodded. "When I discussed the message with the President, he told me what really happened in that manor." he frowned upset. "Speaking about that, why didn't I read the true version of what happened? Instead colonel Falk transmitted me a report about Artemus having had a concussion and a memory loss, explaining his disappearance for three days…"

Pulling on his waistcoat, Jim said, "I take the responsibility for that, Sir. With all due respect to Colonel Falk, he is not… open minded, Sir. And what had happened was so extraordinary…it was time travel, Sir! I preferred to give a more rational explanation, in my report, Sir." He glanced at his best friend, then added, "Artie tried to explain what really happened to Colonel Falk but seeing that he wasn't ready to hear the real version, he… confirmed what I had put in the report."

Artie nodded. "I didn't want to end up in a hospital for a mental evaluation Sir, or worse, end up locked in the cell of a lunatic asylum."

Remembering that particular embarrassing moment, Artie smiled and said, "But Jim and I weren't sure that Colonel Vautrain was dead, Sir. We always suspected he and his men were gone before the manor exploded, because no corpses were found in the ruins of Live Oak Manor… But we didn't have any proof to support this belief, because the explosions and fire could have vaporized the bodies." Grimacing, he stretched the muscles of his back attempting to ignore his headache but in vain. "No one should sleep on these couches…it's torture, "he said.

Colonel Richmond nodded. "I understand now. But next time something extraordinary happens, make your report directly to me. I know that sometimes you encounter… non rational situations, like having to fight against a ghost but I want to read the true version, gentlemen."

The two agents nodded, and said, "Yes, Sir!" in concert.

Jim sighed and added. "And now Vautrain and Loveless are inviting us to join them… not for a picnic, but without a doubt, to kill us."

The Colonel nodded. "As usual. But as usual you will get away from them. The President and I want them arrested and in jail, gentlemen. Richmond moved toward the door. "Jim, Artemus, be careful, these two men are very dangerous, good luck," he added, then left the carriage, closing the door behind him.

Rubbing his tired face, Artie let out, "I have a very bad feeling about this."

Nodding, Jim held out a hand to Artie, pulling the older man up on his legs. "Yes, me too. But we have orders, buddy and we have to follow them." He smiled and added, "I was starting to miss this cat and mouse game with Loveless."

Running a hand through his hair, Artie said, "Not me," then, yawning he headed for the galley, Jim following him his stomach making hungry noises.

Marmie and AG followed, meowing hungrily.

Starting to prepare coffee, Artie said, "Loveless wants us dead, we both know that. But Vautrain doesn't. It's not our fault if that Union shell destroyed the grand salon of his manor house and that that beam fell onto his legs, crushing them…"

Jim nodded. "Yes, I know. But they both want to eliminate us to have the free hands to bring to a successful conclusion their common project…"

Opening the top cupboard of the two parts dresser, Jim smiled. "You're right, Artie. Loveless has certainly in mind one of his usual plans: kill the President, destroy the government to be king; kill everyone in the country in a massive genocide to be throned emperor… Take your pick." He pulled out two cups and two plates. "But Colonel Vautrain… What is his place in all this? What does he want? With his extraordinary power, he can do anything he wants… and that's the problem." He placed the cups and plates on the small table, then opened the drawer to take out the silverware.

Nodding, Artemus broke the shell of the first egg on the edge of a frying pan. "I don't like it at all," he said, before looking down at Marmie and AG both rubbing against his leg.

Looking up at her owner, Marmalade let out a loud meow, pawing Artie's pants impatiently; AG looking up at Artie too, copied his adoptive mama. "Meowwwwwww!" he let out.

Cupping the back fluffy kitten, Jim brought AG to his chest. "Tiny kitten, big meow," he said, and let AG climb on his shoulder. Watching his partner prepare an omelet, he added, "I don't like it either. We are going to have to be very careful, Artie. Loveless wants to kill us and Vautrain too."

Smiling at the cats, Artie said, "I'm busy. Humans need to eat too, you know? Be patient. Jim's going to give you something to eat…" Glancing at his best friend he pointed his spoon at the top shelf. "There are two boxes of canned tuna there Jim, open them, please."

WWW

 _Phoenix, hotel Paradise, in the evening_

 _Room 14_

Entering the attached bathroom Jim said, "I noticed two men watching us earlier, standing on the other side of the street, in front of the hotel, probably two of Loveless's henchmen."

Loosening his ribbon-tie Artemus sat on the bed testing the mattress that was hard like wood. 'Perfect for my old back', he thought. Smiling he lay down, pulled the pillow beneath his head and closed his hands on top of his chest. "I'm betting on something 'classic' to capture us: like a knockout gas. Men with guns could hurt us, and he wants to…" He yawned. "To keep us intact to do what he has planned to do with us…" He yawned again and closed his eyes. "Torturing us first…"

Nodding, Jim removed his jacket. "To kill us after that. Yes, it is fast and effective and Loveless adores using that. I hope he'll leave us some time to eat before kidnapping us, I'm hungry." He poured some water from a pitcher in the porcelain basin placed on the small table, beneath the cracked mirror. "What about going to a saloon? I dream about a juicy steak and mashed potatoes and gravy…" He unbuttoned his blue waistcoat and opened the top of his shirt. "And I'm not against a good fresh beer, you?" He splashed his face with the cold water then toweled it dry. As there was no response from his partner he glanced into the bedroom and noticed that Artie was fast asleep on top of the bed. "Hmm…"

He smiled. His partner always took a nap before going into action. Artemus was able to cat-nap anywhere, anytime. 'I've watched him sleep sat on his horse, under heavy rain during the war while shells exploded all around him', he remembered.

Going back into the bedroom, Jim sat on the edge of the bed and observed his sleeping companion. "Have a nice nap, Artie," he said. With his finger he traced the faint and fading scar that the bullet had left on Artie's left temple, remembering their first mission together, as special agents. A bullet had grazed Artemus in the same place. It had been close too that night.

A knock at the door drew James West out of his thoughts. Taking up his revolver he slowly opened it and… found no one there.

He looked down and saw a brown packet sat on the rug. "What do we have here? I bet on a welcome present sent by Loveless…" He was reaching out to pick it up when it suddenly exploded releasing a thick cloud of yellow smoke. "Artie was right…"

The knock out gas rapidly propagated within the room and Jim couldn't resist its effects for long. Coughing, swaying, he finally collapsed in the corridor, unconscious.

Artemus who had woke up with a start at the sound of the explosion jumped to his feet, hiding his nose and mouth with his corduroy sleeve but it was useless he realized, feeling his consciousness abandon him. He fell backward on the bed.

Tbc.


	4. Act Two Part One

**THE NIGHT OF THE ICE COLD DEATH**

 **By Andamogirl**

 **WWW**

 **ACT TWO**

 **Part one**

 _Later, in Loveless's hideout, in a dungeon-like room._

Eyes fluttering open, James West regained consciousness slowly, his head pounding, and immediately noticed that his arms were stretched out and his wrists were encased in cold iron chained to the stone wall of a damp, cold underground room, torches lighting up the place.

He let out an exasperated sigh. "Again. What's with Loveless's obsession for dungeons?"

The shackles around his wrists rattled as he tugged at them, trying to pull free of them and failing. He noticed then that he was dressed only in his underwear.

No clothes, no shoes – no hidden gadgets, then. He was completely at his adversaries' mercy.

He sighed again. As usual.

There was a large box placed in the vast room, provided with glass panels. It was linked to a series of tubes and wires to a big machine loaded with colored lights and buttons.

He groaned.

It was another of Loveless's machines.

He looked around him, where was Artemus? He located his companion on the opposite side of the dungeon. He too was restrained and wearing only his underwear and he was still unconscious.

Beside his partner he saw a rope hung from the ceiling, ending with a hook, and a there was big wooden rack supporting a set of torturer's tools, such as whips, spiked maces, irons, bone-breaking devices, etc. that could cause an extreme amount of pain.

He felt the hair stand up at the back of his neck. "Oh no…"

The door opened and two men entered the vast room heading toward Artemus. They roughly pulled him up on his feet.

He looked around him, dazed and confused. "Wha…?"

Loveless made his entrance, followed by Voltaire and Vautrain.

The diminutive man looked at Jim first. "Mr. West, it's good to see you again, I'm sure that your stay here will be as displeasing as possible before you die." Then he looked at Artemus. "And it's good to see you again Mr. Gordon – I was standing in front of your grave not so long ago." He opened the newspaper he was holding and showed the front page to his prisoner and reveled in Artemus's horrified expression.

Successively stunned, lost and then aghast, Artemus suddenly became very pale and his blood turned to ice water in his veins. "I was dead?"

Loveless nodded. "You were dead, yes, and buried six feet under. You died more than a week ago protecting your precious President, taking a bullet in your chest for him. He pronounced your eulogy, saluted – you can read the transcript of it in the article. It's beautiful. But, as I wanted to kill you myself, I used Colonel Vautrain's help to change the past…"

Colonel Vautrain moved his wheelchair toward West and précised, "I used my extraordinary power to open the fourth dimension to send an assassin through time, to the past, just before Grant's speech, so he could kill the other assassin."

Loveless nodded. "And you weren't killed at the end of Grant's speech. You were just wounded, not too badly I read in the Washington Herald. You should thank me Mr. Gordon; I saved your life…" He smiled like a crocodile and added, "To take it myself later and your next death will be the last. You won't come back, trust me Mr. Gordon." Looking at Vautrain he added, 'But first, you'll have to suffer, of course. I'll let Colonel Vautrain handle that part."

Pulling on his restraints, Jim said, "In exchange for his help, you told him that he could torture Artemus and me, right?"

Loveless nodded. "Yes."

Artie sighed. "I know now why I had a bad feeling about that mission." He frowned. "I'd like to understand something… why do you want to kill us?"

Colonel Vautrain rolled his wheelchair close to Artemus and said, "Why? I was heading toward the door of my manor house when you attacked my men. I came back to help them and that Union shell destroyed the grand salon… and that beam crushed my new legs. I therefore hold you responsible for what happened and I want my vengeance… I'm not going to torture you myself, but I'm going to enjoy watching you being tortured. These two men here used to be guardians and torturers of a confederate prison reputed to be 'hell on earth' for the Blues. They are experts in all kind of torture and they have a lot of practice." He snapped his fingers and one of the two men holding Artemus attached the hanging hook to the shackles and pulling on a rope, he lifted the special agent from the ground so that his feet were dangling above it.

Artie felt an excruciating tug tearing at his shoulders and winced, the shackles around his wrists were biting into his soft flesh starting hot spikes of pain. "Oh boy…"

The crippled man continued, "Let's start with Mr. Gordon. I'm keeping Mr. West _pour le dessert_. Messieurs, start with something simple, will you?"

Artemus's teeth gritted at the impact of one of Vautrain's men's fists to his ribs.

The two experts in torture started using Artie's body as a punching-ball, hitting him where it hurt the most for long, interminable minutes: his face, his ribs, his back, his groin. Soon Artemus face and body were marred with bleeding cuts and nasty-looking reddish marks.

The Colonel raised his hand, "Stop!" and his henchmen obeyed, taking a step back.

Seeing that Jim was pulling on his chains, knuckles white, his face contorted in rage, Artemus said hoarsely, "I'm fine," then, defiantly he glared at Vautrain. "I was tortured before Vautrain, during the war. I'm not afraid." He spat blood on his torturers' faces. Groaning, they landed another solid punch to the side of Artie's bloody torso making him yelp.

Noel Vautrain smiled cruelly. "You probably were tortured by amateurs because you don't seem to have any physical nor mental disabilities… You should be afraid Mr. Gordon, because soon you will beg me to put an end to your horrible sufferings."

Miguelito Loveless raised his hand, "Tsk! Tsk! Tsk! That's my part Colonel. I am the one who is going to kill Mr. Gordon and Mr. West – in a horrible and unique way. You can play with my prisoners but you have to let them live when your games have ended."

Vautrain nodded reluctantly and snapped his fingers again. "Very well. Let's continue with something classical shall we? Use the whip now, but not too strong. Dozens of small cuts hurt more than one, deep one. And the pain is more intense that way."

Blanching, Artemus stiffened when he saw one of the goons take a large whip off the rack then send it flying through the air with a crack. 'Oh boy!' He whispered and his breath quickened.

Jim jumped to his feet and gritted his teeth angrily when he heard a crack followed by Artie muffling a cry. A large red line now crossed his partner's bruised chest.

Smiling, his face bloodied from a cut eyebrow, a nosebleed and split lips, Artemus glared at Vautrain. "This is nothing…" and raised his chin defiantly, as he waited for another blow, clenching his jaw.

Crack!

Crack!

Crack! …

The man continued to use the whip, on Artie's chest, sides and back for long minutes which seemed an eternity for Artemus and for Jim.

In the meantime Jim was pulling on his restraints like a chained tiger trying to get rid of them, frustrated not to be able to help his partner, wanting to stop all this.

Clenching his fists, Artie, his face white, was biting his lip to prevent himself from screaming out in pain, not wanting to please both Vautrain who was looking at him with a manic grin, enjoying each second of his henchmen's work on him and Loveless who was humming cheerily enjoying Jim's enraged state.

He suddenly stopped and said, "It would seem that you're unable to help your dear companion Mr. West. How frustrating…" He turned toward Vautrain. "That's torture, Colonel, of a different form, you see. But torture nonetheless. I hope you appreciate." He looked at Jim again and added, "You won't be able to free yourself this time, Mr. West. The chains are solidly embedded in the rock. Do you think I haven't learned my lesson from your previous escapes? This time you won't be going anywhere until I allow it."

Cries and burning sobs finally erupted from Artie's bleeding split lips while he was still fighting, trying to kick his torturers, but vainly.

Soon he stopped, his strength leaving him and, suddenly boneless, he sagged down against his restraints, shoulders stretching, blood oozing from his bruised, grazed and cut shackled wrists and he mercifully lost consciousness.

The whipping finally ceased.

Loveless applauded. "Very nice."

One of Vautrain's henchmen pulled back Artie's head by his hair and let it fall limply on his chest. "He's passed out, "he said.

Colonel Vautrain sighed, frustrated. "We'll continue later. This is only the start. His upper body is red, but there's no blood yet…"

Loveless shook his head. "No, it is the end. You have finished with Mr. Gordon, Colonel. Artemus is not as resilient as Mr. West. Despite his brilliant scientific mind I admire sincerely and all his talents, he's just an average human – Mr. West is not. Mr. West is like a rock facing the worst tempests without a single scratch. He's a superman. The next round of torture could be fatal to Mr. Gordon and I don't want him to die that way. I have planned something for him that I'm sure will please you, Colonel." He gestured toward Voltaire. "Voltaire, release Mr. Gordon and carry him into the glass box."

The giant removed Artie's shackles and caught the other man in his arms before he hit the floor. Then he lifted the limp body in his arms like he weighed nothing and complied.

He closed the door of the 'glass box' behind him.

Loveless grinned. "As you can see there's only one door handle, and it is outside. There is no way to open the glass box from the inside."

Noel Vautrain moved his wheelchair toward one of the big glass panels. He could see Gordon lying on his back, on the floor, spread-eagled and still passed out. "What's the purpose of that glass box, Doctor?" he asked, very curious.

Loveless rubbed his hands in glee. "You see, I invented a machine I'm quite fond of which produces ice cold air using electricity. I can set any cold temperature. When I activate the central command, cold air will be released into the box. I designed it myself so that Mr. West here can see his best friend die, slowly, but inevitably from hypothermia. Mr. Gordon will be transformed into a block of ice in a matter of minutes."

His face gray with dread, Jim glowered at his Nemesis and growled menacingly. "Kill Artemus Loveless and I'll kill you. And it won't be a pleasant death." Then, gritting his teeth, he pulled with all his strength at his shackles again ignoring the burning and bleeding abrasions on his wrists - feeling the restraints dislodge from the wall - a bit more. He would be free soon, and then…. And then, all hell will break lose, he thought jaws tightened in anger, his eyes murderous.

Loveless tsk-tsked. "Promises, promises."

Artemus moaned as he slowly regained consciousness and tried to sit, but he was too weak to. He failed and laid back on the metal floor of the box, his breath short and painful. He turned his head to his right and through a transparent glass panel saw Jim trying to get rid of his restraints, his face mad. "Jim," he let out in a whisper. He reached out his hand and touched the glass leaving bloody imprints on it. "Jim… help me… " he said, his voice raspy and low.

Miguelito Loveless activated the central command and soon ice cold air entered the glass box using a series of tubes located on the top, rapidly filling it completely. "It should take only a few minutes before Mr. Gordon's ultimate demise… Perhaps you should say goodbye to him now, Mr. West."

Shivering Artemus felt the ice cold air cover his skin with an ultra-thin layer of ice and the cold invaded his limbs little by little. 'I'm going to die from exposure to the cold' he thought. 'This is not my day.'

He glanced at Jim still fighting to release himself from the shackles restraining him. He noticed that his best friend's eyes were haunted and that he was pale as a ghost. Totally helpless, Jim couldn't save him… he could just watch him die, feeling totally helpless, and that was just another form of torture, he mused.

Loveless pushed on a few buttons. "Lowering the temperature now."

Shudders were racking Artemus whole body now. His breathing was ragged in his battered chest, his pulse irregular. "I'm gon-na die…"

He knew he was going to die from hypothermia, killed by Loveless's machine and that there was nothing to do to stop it and to stop his Nemesis.

There was no use fighting it.

But survival instinct kicked in. He fought hard to stay conscious. But fatigue weighed his eyelids down. He was so tired...

His heartbeat was slowing down progressively.

Frostbite didn't bother him anymore. His body was going numb. He couldn't feel anything, even the cold. 'At least… I'm not in pain anymore…'

Miguelito lowered the temperature again jumping ecstatically. "This time, it's the end of Artemus Gordon, his ultimate death."

Artie gathered his last remaining strength to place his hand again on the glass wall covered now with a thick layer of ice. "J'm," he slurred, his tongue feeling heavy and clumsy in his mouth. "Bye J'm…" he let out between lips turned blue.

His whole body felt stiff and frozen. His breathing slow down a little more and blackness engulfed him, and he succumbed to slumber.

His breathing slowed to almost nothing and a few seconds later a final sigh escaped his lips.

Loveless bounced with pure glee. "Mr. Gordon is dead. Dead!" Accompanying the last word with a clap of his hands, in a childlike pleasure. He looked at Jim enjoying the look of devastation that defied description written all-over the agent's face. "One dead, one to go," he said. "Now Mr. West, I have to…" He abruptly stopped and took a step back raw panic flashing across his eyes as he realized that Jim West had got rid of his restraints – and was moving toward him like a predator on its prey, glaring at him, fury, vengeance and death glinting in his eyes. "No! No! No! That's not possible! Not again! Voltaire! Seize him! Seize him! Quick!"

While Vautrain and Loveless fled the dungeon-like room, Voltaire and the two torturers gathered to attempt to capture the Secret Service man.

James West mad with wild rage pummeled the other men, beating them to a bloody pulp in a matter of a few minutes, even Voltaire.

Once the other men were sprawled unconscious around him, Jim regained his calm and vaguely realized that beating the other men to a bloody pulp had given Loveless and Vautrain plenty of time to get away. Dismissing the thought in a split second, he focused on what was really important: saving Artie.

He hurried to open the door of the glass box still filled with bone chilling air. "Loveless is wrong, Artie's still alive, he's still alive", he said, his breaths coming in small puffs of hot air. "Artie is strong, he's solid, he's robust… he has survived."

He knelt beside Artie as a series of violent shudders shook his frame, noticing that his best friend's legs were drawn up against his body, and his arms were wrapped around his chest. He was in a fetal position and was rigid.

His face was starkly colorless except his lips, blue.

He grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him out of the glass box, swallowing hard. It was like pulling on a block of ice.

He touched Artemus's bare skin with a trembling hand as if it could break. It was frighteningly cold, almost blue, his blood frozen under his fingertips. "Artie?"

He touched Artie's throat and found nothing, no pulse at all. He shook his head in denial. "N-no! You c-can't d-die, Artie. I-I wouldn't b-be able t-to go on without y-you…"

He tried again, still nothing. "Ooh, Artie," He leaned forward, rested his forehead against Artie's. His eyes burned as tears welled up and froze seconds later.

WWW

 _Later_

Holding Artemus's ice-cold rigid body in his arms, Jim left the dungeon room and after a few minutes navigating its corridors built deep underground, in the red rock, he found a long staircase leading upstairs.

He found himself in a stable.

He moved toward a buckboard and placed Artie's corpse on the back, then he covered his dead partner with a tarpaulin that was there.

He rapidly harnessed two white mares, sat in the driver's place and set the horses on.

Grief-stricken, groggy, he began a long trip through a burning desert, not knowing where he was or where to go, following a dusty trail, crying. He had lost the man he considered his brother – and worse, hadn't been able to save him.

He felt responsible.

Hours passed traveling under the scorched heat. From time to time he cast a glance behind him, at the corps lying there under the tarpaulin. "I'm sorry buddy, please forgive me," he repeated each time as waves of nausea rolled through his stomach.

It took a couple of hours before vengeance came to mix with grief and sorrow – and finally take over. Jim gritted his teeth in rage.

He would make Loveless pay for Artie's death – dearly.

Consequences be damned.

Tbc.


	5. Act Two Part Two

**THE NIGHT OF THE ICE COLD DEATH**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT TWO**

 **Part two**

 _Old River Town, later_

Finally, James West halted the exhausted horses in front of the sheriff's office and saw an old man wearing a silver star head toward him. "Sheriff, I need your help."

The lawman immediately noticed that the other man was in his underwear only and had shackles with the broken chains around his bloodied wrists.

Un-holstering his gun in a flash, the sheriff pointed it at Jim. "Raise your hands, and don't move! You have escaped from Yuma's state prison, right son?" Then he noticed there was a body at the back of the buckboard. He could see a hand coming out from under tarpaulin covering the corpse. "Who is he? What happened to him? Did you kill him?"

Jim shook his head. "I'm not a fugitive, sheriff. My name is James James West; I'm working for the Government. My partner and I were attacked… and he's dead. It's a long story. I need to use the telegraph to contact my commanding officer in Washington immediately."

Rubbing his stubbled chin with his free hand the sheriff said, "You seem to be honest man and telling the truth and I know how to recognize liars. I met a lot of them in my long career as a sheriff. You're not one of them." He holstered his Colt, frowned then moved closer to the buckboard. "Are you sure your partner's dead Mr. West? Because I just saw his hand move."

Stunned Jim blinked twice. "What?"

Then, in one jump Jim found himself at the back of the buckboard. He removed the tarpaulin covering Artie's body and touched his skin. It wasn't ice cold anymore but warm. Artie's skin had turned pink instead of the terrible frozen white. He noticed too that his lips were not blue anymore, but had a normal color and his bruises and cuts were all colors.

He blinked, stunned. "But he was dead when I carried him out of that glass box…"

He touched Artie's throat, taking his pulse and found one, barely perceptible, but it existed. He stared at his best friend's chest for a few seconds until he saw the gentle rise and fall. "YES!" he said. He grinned his heart hammering with joy and relief in his chest. "Artemus is alive! That's incredible! He was dead." Still grinning, he shook Artemus's shoulders in an attempt to wake him up. "Artie wake up, pal! Wake up!" But Artemus still didn't move or show any signs of regaining consciousness. He looked back at the sheriff. "A doctor! He needs to see a doctor. Do you have a doctor here, sheriff?"

The sheriff nodded. "Sure, we have Peter Brown. His office is located at the end of the street son, you can't miss it."

WWW

Five minutes later Artemus's limp body was lying on the doctor's examination table. Jim rapidly described to the physician what had happened, from Artie's exposure to extreme cold to his 'miraculous resurrection' a few minutes ago then anxiously asked. "What can you do for him?"

Dr. Brown placed the stethoscope's diaphragm against Artemus's chest. Eventually he removed the earpieces and smiled at him, "Pulse is steady, breathing regular. We need to maintain his body as warm as possible. His heart rhythm is a bit slow but regular." He examined his patient thoroughly then he took a pile of blankets from the back of an old cupboard and started wrapping Artie in them. "We have to let his body warm up by itself, slowly. The heat of the desert you went through did a good job. Don't worry; he's going to make it."

Relieved far beyond the word, Jim slumped in the closest chair, burying his face in his trembling hands, hiding his tears. "Thank God," he whispered. Then, with red-rimmed eyes, he looked up at the doctor. "Then he wasn't dead? But I took his pulse and there was none."

The physician shook his head. "He wasn't dead but was in a coma due to a severe case of hypothermia and he had a pulse, but it was so weak you didn't feel it. I encountered a case like your friend once when I was in Montana Territory. That man survived too. Don't worry young man; your friend here is now out of danger. But he's not going to be in good shape for weeks. He took quite of a beating… and he was flogged too. But he's not cut, just burnt where the whip hit his skin. He won't have permanent scars. They will heal. Who the hell did this and why? If your friend is anything like you he seems to be a nice man."

James gritted his teeth. "He is." 'Loveless and Vautrain and the others had escaped but one day I will make them pay for what they did', he thought.

Dr. Brown soaked a cloth with disinfectant and touched the first wound with it. "It's a good thing he's deeply unconscious. It probably hurts like hell." He gently cleaned all the wounds, stitched the deeper ones then taped Artemus with white bandages where it was needed. "There, now for the bruises…" The doctor picked up a jar and plunged his fingers into the thick material contained inside. "I prepare this salve myself, it smells awful but it's very efficient. Your friend's bruises should vanish quickly." He then started to cover all the bruises with it. After I'm done with your friend, we'll carry him to the cot in the room attached to my office. Then I will take care of the abrasions on your wrists."

Rubbing the skin of his raw wrists, Jim smiled. "Thank you, doctor."

Dr. Brown smiled. "I'm going to find you some clothes too. We're about the same size."

WWW

Moaning, Artemus stirred, blinking his eyes open to sunlight streaming into the room as he slowly regained consciousness, cocooned in a comfortable nest of warm wool blankets. "Owww…"

Immediately, Jim, who hadn't left his best friend's side since he brought him to Doctor Brown's office, left his chair to sit on the edge of the bed.

He took his best friend's hand in his and asked, "Are you okay Artie?"

Hazy chocolate eyes puffed up and swollen with sleep locked on Jim's face staring at him blankly. "Jim? That… you? What hap'ed?" Artie asked his vision blurred with fatigue, clearly confused and disoriented. He ran one hand over his strained features then in his messy and tousled hair. "Oh boy! How drunk did I get last night?" he demanded his head buzzing. "Help me to sit up please?"

Complying, Jim slipped an arm beneath Artie's and eased him up to a sitting position. He pulled his best friend into an embrace and held him there, hugging him tight for long minutes. Then he pulled back, holding the older man by his shoulders and said, "You're back." He grinned. "Yes, you're back! My God, Artemus, I thought I had lost you for good this time."

Artie nodded groggily and feeling sluggish he rested his head on his partner's bare shoulder. "I'm back? From where? Did I go somewhere? What happened? I don't remember... Everything's all fuzzy…You lost me? He closed his eyes unable to keep them open and wrinkled his nose. "It smells awful, you kind of stink buddy. You need a bath… maybe two…"

Maneuvering Artie on his back, Jim chuckled. "No, I don't, that's you pal. Well, it's Doctor Brown's homemade salve actually. Awful stuff but very efficacious. Your bruises are going to fade in no time and the cuts will heal without a trace." Seeing the fatigue written in every line of the other man's face, Jim said, "You're worn out Artie. Get some sleep. We can talk more, later."

Closing his eyes, Artemus whispered, "I had a dream… no, it was a nightmare. I was so cold, so dead…" and drifted off to sleep.

WWW

 _The next morning_

Artemus opened his eyes groggily smelling coffee and blinked seeing a blurred face not far from his. He blinked twice and the blur solidified… "Jim?"

Jim smiled broadly. "Ah, you're finally awake. Do you want some coffee?"

Artemus tried to ease himself into a better position, and then feeling his whole body aching, he chose to stay where he was, buried in the bed. "He raised his hand and took the cup. "Yes, thanks." He gasped and the blood drained from his face. "I remember everything, Loveless, Vautrain, the glass box, the cold, I was so cold… then blackness. It's all there, Jim." He suddenly clutched his hand to his chest. His heart was beating. "I'm alive!" He frowned, puzzled. "Why am I not dead? I won't say I'm disappointed but I could have sworn I was dead. But I'm still alive…"

Smiling Jim sat on the edge of the bed. "You didn't die, but it was really close. You were not dead but in a comatose state. In hypothermia the doctor said." He placed another pillow behind Artie's back and watched him sip a little of the hot coffee. "It's a long story."

Frowning, Artie touched the younger man's shoulder. "Then you're real?"

Jim chuckled. "Yes I am." He patted his best friend's hand. "Welcome back Artie. Are you in shape to eat breakfast?"

Moving into a sitting position, wincing, Artie said, "Of course. Did you prepare it?"

Smiling Jim shook his head. "No, I didn't. Martha Brown, the doctor's wife prepared it and everything looks delicious." He pointed at a pile of clothes and a pair of boots placed on a chair beside the window. "The doctor found these for you."

Suddenly the door was brutally opened and two armed men entered the doctor's office and pointed their guns art the two agents.

The tallest one said, "Dr. Loveless wants to see you."

Smiling, the smallest used his free hand to pull out a syringe from the pocket of his jacket and uncapped the needle. "Dr. Loveless wishes you a good night."

Raising his hand Artie said, "I'd like to get dressed before, if you don't mind. I don't want to die in my underwear, you understand."

Jim smiled. "Artie you're naked."

WWW

 _Loveless's hideout, much later_

Miguelito Loveless chuckled when he saw the two special agents walk into his office, framed by his two henchmen, guns in hand. "Mr. Gordon! Why am I not surprised to see that you're alive?" He looked at Vautrain, sitting in his wheelchair next to him, his 'torturers' standing behind him… seeing total surprise written on their faces. "But my new friend here, is, and his men too. He doesn't know how many times I thought I had killed you and… and you survived. You have as many lives as a dozen cats put together... but you are not immortal, Mr. Gordon. I saw your grave."

Colonel Vautrain raised his hand and intervened. "Maybe it has something to do with you, Doctor Loveless. Somehow you're unable to kill Mr. Gordon."

Loveless frowned, upset, and Voltaire standing beside him was too.

But Vautrain ignored their reaction and added, "If I was superstitious, and I am not, I would think that you have been cursed." He looked at Artie, his eyes cold and cruel. "But I'm not you, Doctor, and I will kill him – and he'll stay dead."

He rolled his wheelchair closer to Artemus. "You will die where and when I'm going to send you and… " He looked up at Jim. "And your friend will accompany you, of course."

Unfazed Jim nodded. "In some place deadly in the past, I suppose…"

Colonel Vautrain had a raptor grin. "It will be totally different from the time period you ended up in the last time, I promise."

Artemus nodded. "Oh I'm sure about that. But before you do, there are a few things puzzling me so I'd like some explanations, if you don't mind… first thing: Where was the… how could I say that….? The original you when you, Jim and me, ended up in the past?"

Colonel Vautrain frowned in anger remembering all that happened vividly. "I was fighting against General Grant's troops… and ended up seriously wounded, with my legs shattered." He looked up at Jim and said, "I should have died among my men, on the field, like a soldier, with honor… but you found me, helped me, saved me… and trapped me in a wheelchair."

Artie nodded. "Another man but my partner would have let you die, but for Jim all lives are precious. So you shouldn't blame him but thank him. You're still alive."

Vautrain's dark eyes flared with anger. "Being trapped in a wheelchair is not." He took a deep breath and calmed down. "What is your next question?"

Artie continued, "I didn't remember anything after I came back from the past – alive, except that I was wounded – a bullet had hit me in the chest - and dying in Jim's lap…"

His face strained at that memory, Jim added, "You died, Artie."

Glancing at his partner, Artie said, "I know." Looking down at Vautrain again, he added, "Jim told me what happened in the past. So… when you told him when he came back with me from the past, that you didn't know where he had gone… it was a lie, because you and us, on our next trip in time, ended up precisely a few hours before General Grant entered your ancestral home… Why lie to him?"

Colonel Vautrain smiled. "Why? Because I wanted to play a little with your confused partner, add confusion to his confusion… An old man has as much fun as he can. And what is your second question?"

And Artie asked, "Why send me in that precise period in time?"

Eyes twinkling with wickedness, Vautrain asked, "Did you like your life in the past Mr. Gordon?"

Still frowning Artie shook his head. "I don't know. I don't remember what happened… Jim told me I thought I was ab English gentleman called Jack Maitland living in the 1830s judging by the clothes I was wearing… wanting to duel with Jim because I took him for someone else… a man who had insulted me. As we began to fight with an épée, bandits attacked us. I was shot in the stomach… and I died in Jim's lap."

Noel Bartley Vautrain grinned. "In fact, you didn't leave the misty void which is a passage between two periods of time. I used my power to make you stay in limbo, unconscious, waiting for Mr. West to come back… Jack Maitland never left the past…"

Frowning in his turn, puzzled, Jim affirmed, "Jack Maitland was Artemus Gordon. He left, with me. I was holding him in my arms…"

The ex-confederate officer smiled. "Jack Maitland was Jack Maitland. Not Artemus Gordon. You had him in your arms, yes, at the beginning, but after a few seconds, I used my power to replace him with Mr. Gordon. That's why you ended up on that landing, with your partner, dressed in your costume de soirée and passed out." He added, "I sent you into the past, Mr. West, to a very precise time, so you could meet… your best friend's father, Jack Maitland."

Stunned, Artie blinked. "My what?" he croaked.

Colonel Vautrain continued, "I took information about each of you and your family before planning the assassination of General Grant. Jack Maitland was killed by bandits on July, 3, 1829… the next morning after he met Helena Ursula Gordon during a ball organized by his father, in Charlotte… The Gordons left there before moving to the North, to Green Hill. I found the list of the guests by doing my research."

Blanching, Jim was the first to realize, "If I took Jack Maitland for Artie it is because… he's the very image of his father…"

Colonel Vautrain chuckled. "I wanted you to meet your best friend's – real – father, Mr. West, Jack Maitland. You can see the resemblance..."

Feeling suddenly weak, Artemus headed toward a chair and slumped on it, aghast. "My mom… she… Jack Maitland… and her…"

Miguelito Loveless nodded, impressed and he applauded. "Bravo! I can see that you love 'mental' torture too, Colonel. I love it!"

His eyes still cold and cruel, Vautrain continued, "Yes. Love is unpredictable. Don't blame your mother, it was love at first sight… no one can fight that kind of strong attraction and what usually happens next, but it lasted one night only. The next day, Jack Maitland was killed. But your mother was already gone to the North with her husband…" He sighed. "I wanted to tell you all this after you came back, but I forgot as I was focused on my purpose: kill General Grant. But know you know…" He moved toward Artemus who was holding his head in his hands, devastated. "Your mother kept secret that forbidden night of passion for her… and 9 months later you were born… How do you feel?"

Blood boiling, groaning like an angry bear, Artemus jumped at Vautrain's throat, pulling him out of his wheelchair and pinning him to the floor.

He wrapped his hand around the Colonel's throat, digging his nails into the flesh and squeezed. "You're lying! You're lying again! You have insulted my mother! My father! I'm gonna…"

He was stopped when one of Loveless's henchmen hit his head with the butt of his gun.

He collapsed to the floor, passed out.

Jim maneuvered Artie on the chair and held him against him, glaring at the ex-confederate officer that Loveless's goon had put back in his wheelchair. "It's a lie. A lie! You wanted to hurt Artemus and you did. It's a lie because I remember when Maitland, I mean when Artie was dying… He told me that he remembered him and me fighting together. I quote, "I have that ridiculous feeling that you and I have done all this before…" – he was talking about fighting together. Artie was Artie, but he was amnesiac, thinking that he was Jack Maitland. Perhaps he was hit on his head after you sent him into the past… and took that identity…" He snapped his fingers suddenly remembering something. "Jack Maitland… yes! Artemus used that character once in a mission. He was playing a southern gentleman… He somehow became amnesic and used Jack Maitland's identity…" He paused. 'And confused me with a man who looked exactly like me'… he added, "I don't know what happened next, what you did with the power of your mind… and why Artie ended up on that staircase at my side, in his clothes and not wearing Maitland's."

Colonel Vautrain smiled. "You will never know… Yes, it was a lie, a very elaborate lie, and I really enjoyed your partner's reaction…"

Loveless chuckled. "I too. Well done, Colonel."

Ignoring the diminutive man, Vautrain continued, "But I told you the truth when I said that I looked up information about Mr. Gordon and his family, and you and your family. I always wanted to know everything about my enemies, to manipulate them and better overcome them later. Intelligence is the life's blood of the war." He pointed his finger at a door. "You're going to enter that room…" Immediately the two armed goons pointed their guns at Jim and Artie, still passed out. Voltaire joined them. "It's time to say farewell."

Having no choice, Jim took Artie's limp body in his arms and followed Vautrain, rolling his wheelchair toward the door.

He stopped beside Vautrain and said, "We're are going to come back, and it is us who are going to send you to take a walk… in a state prison."

Miguelito Loveless joined Noel Bartley Vautrain and said, "You won't return, it's impossible. Only Colonel Vautrain can bring you back with the power of his mind."

The Colonel nodded. "And I won't. But if it can comfort you, your death will be fast, and definitive this time." And he opened the door.

Holding Artemus, still unconscious against his chest, bridal-style, Jim entered the 'room' and deep and utter blackness immediately enveloped him and his partner.

Colonel Vautrain placed his hands in front of his eyes, and they started to tremble as he used all his strength to focus on his task: sending the two agents into the past.

Like the two previous times in limbo, a sudden mist coming out from nowhere swirled around him and he felt dizzy, nauseous and gritted his teeth…

Still in Loveless's hideout, Vautrain suddenly placed his fingers around his eyes, like they formed a pair of glasses and he said, "Done!" then he collapsed back in his wheelchair, exhausted, panting.

Loveless rubbed his hands in glee. "Gone, forever!"

Jim's teeth started to chatter when he and Artie materialized in the middle of an icy no man's land with snow piled up to his knees. He had instant frostbite.

Shivering, he looked around him, his lungs burned with every breath and his face was growing numb with the ice-cold seeping through his clothes.

He was standing in the middle of a seemingly endless plain covered with snow and ice. There was nothing but white as far as he could see.

There was a line of mountains in the horizon. A pale – warmth less sun – was rising and the sky was star-studded.

It was absolutely freezing and the coming night would be ice-cold.

Tbc.


	6. Act Three Part One

**THE NIGHT OF THE ICE COLD DEATH**

 **By Andamogirl**

 **WWW**

 **ACT THREE**

 **Part one**

 _Somewhere in the past, at the end of the last glacial period_

Holding a still unconscious Artemus in his arms, Jim spotted something gray in all the whiteness: it was a group of rocks half buried in snow drifts.

Other than that, the place was barren.

He headed there… thanking God that the fresh fallen snow wasn't as deep as it could've been. It was up to his knees, but he didn't go far as he slipped on a hidden treacherous patch of ice.

He fell heavily backward and released his companion who rolled on his side. Artemus regained consciousness, his face in the iced snow.

Pulling himself into a sitting position, Jim watched Artie doing the same, but slower and with the older man grimacing in pain. "Artie! Are you okay?" he asked, concerned, his breath misting in front of his face.

Looking around him, more frightened than surprised, Artie responded, "I'm fine for now… but it won't last. Where are we? He tried to draw his jacket tighter around his shivering body. "And when?"

Shivering, his teeth chattering he stood and stuffed his hands already red enough from the freezing largely sub-zero temperatures into his pockets.

He took a cautious step and slipped, finding himself on his butt. He muttered a curse. He was so cold that his teeth were clacking together.

Helping Artie to stand, Jim said, "I don't know where we are and what's the date… all I know is that we need a shelter or we will freeze to death in these conditions!"

Grimacing he touched his head, pulsating where he had been hit and discovered the blood frozen under his fingertips.

He shivered and kept his hands tucked under his crossed arms, wishing his jacket was a thick, warm buffalo fur coat. But sadly, it wasn't.

Pointing at the group of rocks, Jim said, "Let's… head over there. He cupped his hands in front of his mouth and blew on them, trying to warm them up before rubbing them together. "With a bit of luck… we can shelter in those rocks." He stood and helped Artie to get up.

They managed to reach the group of rocks half an hour later, but by the time they got there, the sun had set completely.

The blizzard was blowing, letting out a particularly violent howl.

Once nestled in a small cavity between two big rocks, Artemus maneuvered Jim onto his lap as he was smaller and lighter and the two men snuggled into each other's arms huddling together for warmth against cold stone walls, holding each other close to share their own body heat.

But it wasn't easy with damp clothes.

Always optimistic, Jim said, "The sp-space is s-small b-but t-that's a g-good thing, it's going to heat faster t-that way… and-and we're p-protected f-from the w-wind, mostly."

His head resting on Jim's shoulder, breathing against his partner's neck, and not feeling his extremities anymore, Artie said, "I think this is it Jim… We won't survive for long in this cold, and it's getting colder by the second now. It's the-the end of us."

Every breath was creating a little cloud of steam in the freezing air.

His head resting on Artemus's shoulder, his nose buried in the base of his best friend's neck Jim blinked to clear some of the ice crystal from his lashes and replied, "D-don't s-say t-that. We-we will s-survive… have experienced w-worse s-situations than this… and we are s-still alive."

Closing his eyes, the older man smiled. "I always ad-admired… your op-optimism Jim. For my p-part… I am a realist, there is _no chance_ that we… that-that we can survive this… It's too damn c-co-cold – and getting co-co-colder…" He tried to hunch his shoulders a bit more.

Pressing the older man tighter in his arms, if possible, confident, Jim said, "As long as t-there is life, there-there is ho-hope. We're not d-dead yet bud-d-dy. And I'm s-sure t-that we'll f-find a way to-to s-survive, I mean pa-past t-this night… "

Moaning Artemus relaxed against Jim's shoulder. He was sleepy, "We're… alone in a… icy d-desert. No one's gonna help us…" He heaved a long sigh. "Gonna take a-a n-nap…" he slurred, slowly drifting off, quickly growing weaker.

Frowning, Jim shook his companion. "D-don't sleep, or you'll n-never wake up!" but as Artie kept his eyes closed, he slapped him. "Wake up!" he noticed with dread that his face was very pale with a light tinge of blue. "You're frozen." And he started rubbing Artie's back and sides.

Eyes opening, barely, Artie groaned. "M'wake," and he blinked, his eyelids feeling like lead. "Hypo… hy-hypothermia s-setting in rapidly… M'groggy, heavy, can't f-feel anything… M'weak, after a-all that happened to me…" he said, his breathing raspy.

Moving to the side, the snow and the wind whipping his back, Jim maneuvered Artie into the bottom of the small, tight cavity.

Shivering violently, he started to rub Artie's limbs (his skin was ice-cold) to get his blood moving. You're not going to die, Artie. "Vautrain k-killed you once – when you t-hought you were Ja-ack Maitland, be-because he sent you into the p-past and you were s-shot, but he won't kill you twi-twice, with exposure to c-co-cold." He plastered himself against him again, rubbing the other man's back vigorously.

But Artie wasn't shivering anymore, not even a tiny bit and he was pale enough to be almost blue. Jim knew that was a very bad sign: hypothermia had set in.

His forehead resting against Jim's Artie whispered, "Th-hanks… but it's fu-futile… M'dying." His eyes dropped shut and he breathed out, "Lemme… s-sleep." His head drooped down to his chest, his body limp.

But Jim didn't. He slapped Artie's face, again and again until Artie caught his hand, stopping him. "You're not going to freeze to death! You're not! That's final!"

Leaning heavily against his companion, cold numbing everything, his limbs, his brain, Artemus felt his eyes sliding closed again.

He was gray now and his lips were blue. "T-too tired…"

This time he slipped into unconsciousness.

Holding Artie tightly against him, his teeth chattering, every part of him aching, Jim nodded, feeling the his partner's body's regular rise and fall of breath slow, shallow, but still there. For now. "Ok-kay… you need to s-sleep." He turned around placing his back against the rock and moved Artemus onto his lap, tucking his head under his chin, running soothing circles in his flat, wet, curls. "Sleep Artie… You need t-to r-rest…You're go-oing to be ok-okay… M'going to k-keep you warm." He rubbed his hands up and down Artie's limbs, trying to keep him warm in time spreading some warmth into his fingers.

But exhausted, he succumbed to sleep too half an hour later.

Blackness enveloped him.

WWW

Jim woke abruptly about one hour later when he felt the ground tremble... like in an earthquake and different sorts of grumblings, dozens of them.

He shook Artie's shoulder. "Wake up!" But Artie remained unconscious. He pressed two fingers to his partner's neck and felt his pulse, slow, but still there.

He left the small cavity and through a curtain of powdered snow (the blizzard had died out) he saw… he saw something he had never seen in his life: a herd of enormous beasts resembling elephants, weighting tons! – heading in his direction and he took an involuntary step back. "Oh God!"

Eyes wide open in total surprise, he noticed that the huge animals had a voluminous single-domed head, long curved tusks, a trunk and a massive body with a sloping back and long brown hairs. 'Not elephants,' he let out, amazed.

He spotted people wrapped in furs against the deep cold running behind them, holding spears, letting out savage howls and screams. Others were holding torches.

Hunters.

He saw two of them point their spears at him.

Eyes wide open in dread now, he watched the beasts approach, and then rushed into the small cavity and huddled there, pressing Artie against him for warmth and to protect him.

He closed his eyes and tightened his embrace around his best friend's limp body. The ground was shaking, the rocks moving.

Suddenly a piece of rock detached itself from the vault above the two men and fell on Jim's head. He collapsed to the side, bringing Artie with him, and passed out.

WWW

 _Much later_

Opening his eyes, Jim saw dozens of stalactites hanging above him attached to the ceiling of a cave and grimaced in pain. His head was pounding and hurt.

He realized then that he was alive. "Thank God," he said, with a sigh of immense relief.

He heard the crackling of a fire and enjoyed its warmth remembering how cold he was when Artie and he were huddled between the rocks, in the blizzard.

Everything came back in a flash and he felt a rush of anxiety explode in his chest. "Artie!"

He used his hands to try to push himself up into a sitting position and noticed that he was naked and cocooned in layers of thick (unknown) smelly animal pelts keeping him warm.

He glanced around him. He was in a vast cave and on the other side of the big, crackling, fire; he noticed a group of old women who were wrapped in furs, their feet bound in white skin boots. They were grooming each other, talking to each other in a language he didn't know and… they were eating the bugs (apparently there was a lot of them) they had in their long, dirty, messy hair.

Puzzled, he stood, keeping the furs around him and frowned. They seemed very primitive.

He frowned again. 'At what period back in time did Vautrain send us? First he had seen the very big elephants-but-not – and extinct animals – because he never heard of such beasts on Earth, not in his time period anyway and now this…'

He interrupted his line of thought when he noticed that other women, younger, sitting around Artie's inert, naked body, were touching the tattoo he had on the lower part of his back.

Others were observing his clothes with intense curiosity, touching the fabric, pulling out the buttons, cutting pieces from them with stone blades.

He spotted his own clothes cut into pieces scattered on the ground next to them.

His unconscious partner was lying on a large fur, protecting him from the cold, slightly damp ground. He was resting on his front, spread-eagle. "Artie!"

He was heading toward Artemus when two hunters rushed in his direction, slaloming between the fire and trickles of smoke drifting up from various points of the cave.

He stood immobile when they framed him, holding long spears provided with a flint tip, pointing them right at his throat.

They looked like Indians – but weren't. They were different, he noticed. They looked like the indigenous peoples of Siberia, he mused. Artemus and he had met a few of them, once, in Washington, at a reception at the White House, following an exposition on the arts & crafts of the indigenous peoples of Siberia, at the National Museum of Arts.

He raised a hand, slowly, in a gesture of peace – and the furs slipped to the ground. "I mean you no harm," he said. "I just want to see if my best friend is okay…" He pointed his finger at Artie. "Artemus, my friend."

The two hunters looked at their other prisoner and moved back, letting Jim bolt toward Artie.

Kneeling beside the other man, Jim rolled Artemus on his back – eliciting grunts of displeasure from the women gathered around him - and tapped his face twice. "Wake up Artie! We're safe… I think."

Moaning, Artemus slowly opened his eyes. He blinked and groaned. "Ow… "then he realized that he wasn't dead and gasped in surprise before letting out a long sigh of relief. "Great Scott! I'm not dead!"

Smiling, Jim shook his head relieved to see that his partner's skin had regained its natural color. "No, hunters found us and brought us here with them to a cave. They saved our lives."

Looking up at the women of all ages encircling him and his partner, Artie said, "They look like Indians, but aren't Indians. More like the indigenous peoples of Siberia… like the ones you and I met at the White House after that exhibition at the National Museum of Arts…"

That agreed with what Jim thought. He nodded. "Yes, I remember. It was an exhibition on indigenous arts and crafts from all around the world. A few Siberian craftsmen had been invited as other artists to explain their work…"

Still in scientific mode, Artie continued to observe the women, "But their clothes are different, less sophisticated… more primal."

Sitting cross-legged Jim nodded. "What can you tell me about huge animals with a voluminous single-domed head, long curved tusks, a trunk and a massive body with a sloping back and long brown hair…? Looking like elephants. We were almost crushed by a herd of them."

Rubbing a nervous hand over his tired face, Artie responded, "I think Vautrain sent us way back in the past, Jim. Those animals you described are mammoths. I read a fascinating article about mammoths written by a Scottish naturalist called Hugh Falconer. He was the first to scientifically describe a mammoth, in 1857, and named the species Elephas columbi after Christopher Columbus. Mammoths disappeared from North America 10,000 years ago ... We did a very big leap in time. That explains why the people here look primitive." He glanced around him and added, "And live in a cave."

Shocked, Jim looked at Artie, eyes wide open and mouth gaping. "What?" he croaked.

He pulled himself into a sitting position, wincing, and added, "If of course we are still in the USA ... because we could be where Siberia was 10,000 years ago."

He finally noticed that Jim was naked and he too. He blushed up to his ears, grabbed a piece of his jacket from the hands of an old woman and placed it on his private parts. "For once, I'm not the only one who ended up naked. By the way why am I always – or almost always - the one who ends up naked in almost all of our assignments?"

Placing a large piece of Artie's shirt on his lap, Jim smiled. "So that women can admire your tattoo? That tattoo is a real magnet for women, whether they are of our time or this one…"

Suddenly a burly woman with a shaggy mop of brown hair, rolled Artie onto his stomach and traced again with her fingertips the Comanche black eagle tattooed on his back – still fascinated.

Resting his head on his hands, Artie smiled. "You're not jealous are you?" and he gasped when he felt a hand smack his butt.

He slowly eased himself into a sitting position, his sore body aching, and glared at the women, staring at him, giggling. "Don't do that again! It's… totally inappropriate!" then he grabbed his pants, which had been cut in to long strips of fabric and placed it on his lap.

Jim smirked. "I don't need a tattoo to attract women… I'm drop-dead gorgeous."

Seeing that all the women encircling them were looking at him hungrily – and not at Jim – Artie said, "But women here are not attracted to you, Jim, but to me." Smiling he looked up at an old man wrapped in long, thick furs, with long white hair who was heading toward them. His face was covered with complicated patterns of tribal tattoos. He was framed between two solid hunters. "We're going to meet the leader of this small group ... " And he counted about twenty people, men, women and children.

The flames flickered, casting shadows on the cave walls.

Jim nodded. "He's the only one to have tattoos… maybe because he's the leader. Maybe they think you're a leader too because of the tattooed eagle on your back…"

Artemus stood and swayed on his legs, feeling dizzy. "But I bet they never saw an eagle." His blood was ringing in his ears with an echoing beat like drums. He could barely stand. He dropped the piece of fabric covering his middle to the ground.

Jim stood in a flash and stark naked too, he caught his best friend's elbow. "Are you okay Artie? You look like a ghost."

Pale, his face strained by exhaustion, Artie nodded. "I'm fine."

Placing a friendly hand on Artie's shoulder Jim nodded. "Okay… I'm not the linguist here. Do you think you can communicate with them?"

Raising a surprised eyebrow, Artie replied, "I'm pleased and honored that you appreciate my talents as a polyglot but… this language is 10,000 years old." He sighed. "But I can try…"

The old man raised a hand as wrinkled as his face and started talking in his language… and Artie frowned, intrigued.

Looking at Artie, curious, Jim asked, "What? Did you understand what he told us?"

Ignoring his partner's reaction and question, Artie began talking… in Cheyenne, a language he had learned with the Cheyenne Chief American Knife – who had since then chosen to become a medicine man to perpetuate the family tradition after his father's death. Black Bear, one of the members of the council of elders had replaced him, he recalled.

The old man was very, very, surprised to hear the Cheyenne words and when Artie stopped talking, he smiled and placed his hand on to Artemus's shoulder.

He said something in his language and Artie smiled too. Artemus pointed at Jim and said, "James", then he moved his hand to his own chest and tapped it. "Artemus."

The Chief copied Artie, "Kaj-po-tel."

Moving closer to his best friend, puzzled, Jim said, "I thought that you couldn't speak their 10,000 year old language, but you obviously can."

Smiling, Artie nodded. "I'm the most surprised, Jim. When I heard the chief talk, I recognized Cheyenne words and intonations. It would seem that these people are somehow linked to the Cheyenne, perhaps are the ancestors of the Cheyenne… who knows? But there are big differences in the two languages too. But I think I can manage to talk to them." He paused and glanced at the burly woman who had moved to his side, eying him hungrily. He cleared his throat. "The chief offered his daughter, Nee-at-tepo… to me, I think, no I'm sure. He wants me to be part of his clan… "

Chuckling, Jim clapped Artie's shoulder. "Lucky man… Well, we're stuck here Artie, so you could start a lovely family… and have very interesting children."

Cringing at the idea, Artemus took sudden interest in the wooden spears that the hunters were holding. The point had been hardened by the fire. "Mmm…. I am amazed that they can hunt with that … But I can help them. I learned to carve points of arrows and knife blades in stone, with the Comanche." Then he translated that to Kaj-po-tel who grinned with all his damaged, black teeth. "Let's find what I will need to do that… Show me the stones you have and your tools."

There was a new translation.

Shivering, Artie picked up one of the thick, smelly animal hides covering the cold, rocky ground, and wrapped himself in it, before following the Chief of the clan as he headed toward the mouth of the cave. The bulky woman followed.

Hiding his naked body behind a similar fur, Jim walked to the side of the fire opposite an old woman and looked down at a large piece of meat roasting there.

His stomach rumbled in hunger.

He deliberately ignored the rotting meat piled between two stalagmites against the cave wall as the dank stench made him nauseous.

He glanced at Artie, now busy exploring the clan's primitive tools, making comments in the Cheyenne language and smiled at a woman offering him a piece of juicy meat, she had just cut with a stone knife. Hunger had overtaken nausea. "Thank you very much," he said.

She smiled in return before biting into the piece of meat.

Jim said, "When in Rome…" and sank his teeth into his own piece of meat.

Tbc.


	7. Act Three Part Two

**THE NIGHT OF THE ICE COLD DEATH**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT THREE**

 **Part two**

 _Later_

Showing Jim a 9 inch flint spearhead he held in his palm, Artie said, "Silver Cloud would be proud of me." "I showed the hunters how to make a spearhead and in no time a man called Araj-iit-olk - I hope I pronounced his name correctly - produced this. I'm really impressed. It took me a whole week to be able to perfect a single arrow head." He lifted it, ran his finger along its sharp edge and added, "It's a perfect tool. You see the point is thin, with a lanceolate shape, the sharp sides produced with percussion flaking are parallel to convex, the base is concave for better aerodynamics and better penetration into the flesh… and there's a groove on each side of the point going from the base to its half. The grooves permit the points to be fastened to wooden spears… They will hunt much better with this, and make a knife with a handle of wood, or bone to cut the meat more easily…"

Taking the point to observe it closely, Jim said, "Well done Artie. This invention - that you started, is going to make their life easier."

Nodding distractedly, Artemus looked at the mouth of the big cave lit and warmed by a dozen fires. Outside the wind was roaring and the snow was flying about fiercely.

He stayed like that for one minute, immobile, watching the snow falling without seeing it, absorbed in his thoughts, oblivious to the world around him.

He came back to earth when he felt a jolt of pain in his chest, and hand on his butt, and glared at Nee-at-tepo pressed against his side.

But she didn't remove her hand – and grinned.

He took Jim by his arm and moved away much to the burly woman's chagrin. "Let's go somewhere else, before she jumps on my bones, literally." He heard Jim chuckle. "That's not funny…" He sighed. "I prefer to make my own moves, and anyway we have an assignment."

Nodding Jim sighed. "It's a bit compromised I believe."

His chest aching, Artie smiled. "Not necessarily. I maybe have a solution for how to go back home… no, it's more like an intuition, and mine are always right. Not that these people are not welcoming - we could have been killed by another clan - but Nee-at-tepo jumped on my bones – literally." He took a deep breath. He was perspiring and had pains in his chest. Then he added, "Tell me Jim, what happened after Jack Maitland-me died?"

Jim responded, "I felt numb, lost, and cold. I couldn't think or feel anything. You were dead. Then I took you in my arms and that mist appeared coming out from nowhere and that black void re-appeared…"

Holding his aching left arm, Artie nodded. "The portal between the two dimensions, ours and the fourth opened and you left, holding me."

His look haunted by that memory, Jim nodded, "Yes, I did… holding your dead body in my arms was the most difficult time in my whole life…" He smiled. "But you came back to life."

It was Artie's turn to nod. "We left because my mission in the past as Jack Maitland was over – whatever it was – and yours too, because you had found me to bring me back 'home'."

Puzzled Jim frowned. "Mission? What mission?"

Moving his hand to his chest, where it hurt, above his heart, Artie said, "I became Jack Maitland for a specific reason, Jim, but I still don't know what is – for now. He winced and added, "And we came here among these primitive people for a specific reason too, and I don't know what it is. But I do know that something, when it is done, will return us home. Like we already did after I was shot in the stomach. We'll end up on the other side of the door, out of the misty void, in Loveless's hideout, both alive and ready to resume our assignment."

Rubbing his stubbled jawline pensively, Jim said, "It's an interesting theory…and a plausible one. As I see no other possible explanation ... okay, it was a mission. Then, once back home, you'll ask Vautrain what your mission was, because you don't remember it, and the truth, not another lie."

Feeling his knees wobbling, going weak, Artie slid to the floor, landing on his butt on a thick fur. "It's the beginning," he said, head low, clutching a hand to his heart, struggling to breathe.

His brow furrowed in deep worry Jim sat down beside Artie and took his best friend's hand in his. "The beginning of what?" He asked.

Feeling dizzy and nauseous, Artie raised his head to wipe away at the sweat dripping down his forehead and he said, "A heart-attack. My stay in the glass box probably weakened my heart, and the last bout of hypothermia made things worse… I know the symptoms. I already had a heart attack once, at my mom's home… but this time Dr. Henderson won't be here to save me."

Shaking his head, Jim said, "I will."

Shaking his head too, Artie said, "No. CPR won't work, Jim, my heart is too badly damaged. I'm dying. There's nothing to be done. It shouldn't be long now… I have only a few minutes left, no more." He shot a weak but reassuring smile at Jim seeing his partner become pale and aghast. He added, "I won't stay dead. And… Vautrain has nothing to do with the missions. He opened the portal between the two dimensions to send us into the past where and when he wanted us to go. When he sent you - I don't know where – in the 1830s where he had sent me before, he knew that we would eventually meet. He was expecting it, expecting our return together and it did happen. But he didn't plan I would lose my memory, somehow, he didn't plan I would meet someone looking exactly like you who would insult me, that I would fight a duel with you thinking that you were than other man, that I would be shot… but someone else did."

Puzzled, Jim frowned. "Who?"

Artemus paused feeling like he had run miles, chest heaving for breath. "It was Fate with a big F. Vautrain used us first as guinea pigs to see if he could transport people into the past – and he thought he did, but didn't actually. It was Time. And then, he sent us here, about 10,000 years before Christ to be sure to get rid of us… and I'm sure he thinks we both died from hypothermia. He's not the one who gave us missions. Fate did. We had to go there to do what we did and we had to go here to do what Fate has planned for us. Everything is written. Don't worry. I'm sure Fate will resuscitate me, like it did bring me back to life when I was Jack Maitland, because Fate has plans for me and you in the future. I'm sure of it."

Blinking, very surprised, Jim let out, "Fate?"

His face ashen, chest pains spiking, sweat pouring off of him, Artie said, "Yes, Fate. It exists. You know that I'm open-minded. I believe in God, but that doesn't prevent me from acknowledging the existence of the Great Spirit, for example, because it protects me and it has proved it several times. Then if it exists, why Fate wouldn't exist either? I'm sure it exists, because everything happens for a reason. And I think there's a god playing with us here too, Time, with a big T."

Surprised Jim lifted an eyebrow. "Really?"

His breathing labored, Artie nodded. "Yes, really. I'm sure it exists. Classical… and European mythology feature personified fate. Take for example… the _Morai_ in Greek Mythology, often known in English as the _Fates_ or the _Parcae_ or _Fata_ in Roman mythology, Fata meaning prophetic declaration, oracle, or destiny. Those deities controlled… the mother thread of life of every mortal from birth to death. They directed fate, and watched that the fate assigned to every being by eternal laws might take its course without obstruction…" He paused to take a series of deep breaths and added, "I have a theory. Colonel Vautrain told you the truth… when he said he didn't know where you were gone, and when. He can open the portal between our dimension and the fourth – namely: time… but that's all. He didn't manage the rest of the story, Fate and Time, yes. I wonder where he was able to send that bronze bust, and when. As Fate exists, Time as a sentient entity exists too. In Greek mythology, Chronos or Χρόνος, in ancient Greek is… is identified as the Personification of Time. Fate and time do the job, and Vautrain just open doors, portals. He doesn't control anything. Fate and Time do."

Jim nodded. "He has a fantastic power…"

Rubbing his aching temples, Artie nodded in his turn. "Yes, he has. But his power wouldn't work if Fate and Time didn't play their part. Besides, if he told us how he can send objects and people to voyage in the fourth dimension – time – using I quote, "a warp in the fabric of space", he wasn't too clear when he explained how he did open that 'break', speaking about Faith 'that can move the fabled mountains' and 'pin top power of the universe corralled in the human's mind'… because he doesn't know how it works – doesn't know who-what is opening that fourth dimension – Time - and why, Fate."

Not convinced, Jim said, "It's a very interesting explanation, Artie, but it's a bit hard to believe… Fate and Time existing?"

Artie started gulping air like a fish out of water, feeling his left arm going numb. "Yes, Fate… and… Time… exist, they… do." Slumping on his back bonelessly, his limbs not responding anymore, he breathed, "James my boy,… I know that you have a Cartesian spirit and that you like earthbound explanations… but sometimes, explanations are of a different nature, are well how could I call it… - supernatural – like the ghost of Caroline Day we met a few weeks ago."

Pulling Artie onto his lap – Jim remembered he had done that before with Jack Maitland-Artemus Gordon and he cringed. "Don't talk Artie… Keep your strength."

Closing his eyes for a few seconds then re-opening them Artie said, "I'm almost dead… there's no use in keeping my strength. I have lots of things to say before… before it's too late. "I was saying that… that you and I met a ghost… after I had that premonitory dream."

Jim nodded. "It was more than a premonitory dream, Artie, it really happened."

Devastated by Artie's condition, feeling totally helpless, Jim nodded. "It was a ghost Artie… a ghost that could control her house, control time in her house… a ghost that tried to kill you… But you're talking about a goddess and a god! There's a big difference here…"

His breathing was a bit better but Artemus knew it wouldn't last, unfortunately.

It was a short recess before the end.

He rasped, "Fate and Time sent me into the past, in the 1830s because I had something to do there, at that time… I don't know what, because I don't remember anything, but I will conduct my investigation when this whole story is over. Fate and Time sent you precisely where and when you could find me or Jack Maitland-me - so that we are together, again, because Fate chose us to be together, Jim, because Fate paired us that day, in Petersburg when you shot me, and Time helped, so you shot me precisely at the moment I ended up before the General. Because Fate chose us to accomplish things together. Fate brought me back to life in that passage between dimensions… and…" He smiled. "Time changed my clothes before you brought me back to our time… because it likes order and things ordered. It found that my clothes were not appropriate to my time and it dressed me in the same clothes that I wore when Vautrain kidnapped me… Speaking of Vautrain he didn't do anything. He's a liar and he's not as powerful as he pretends he is."

Still doubtful, Jim nodded. "Okay…so it was Time which allowed Vautrain to travel back in time so he could try to kill General Grant?"

Ghostly pale and clammy, Artie nodded. "Yes. And Fate sent that shell through the wall… and that beam fell on Vautrain's legs, crippling him again. It was his destiny. Everything is written Jim. It was written that we would stop him before he did what he had planned to do, so Grant could live. That's why Time gave Vautrain his legs back, so he could walk and open that hidden ammunition stash…"

Frowning, now puzzled, Jim nodded. "Okay, and Fate let his men and him leave the burning manor before it exploded. Why?"

Rubbing his aching left arm, Artie responded, "So that all this story with Loveless and Vautrain – who had vanished from the surface of the earth - happens, and so that we can arrest him – and Loveless too, I hope."

Rubbing his stubbled chin pensively, Jim asked, "And why did Vautrain became younger and we didn't? Do you have an explanation?"

Suddenly the bulky woman placed a heavy, thick fur cloak on Artie's shoulders and offered him a piece of burnt meat.

He shook his head, the pain in his chest was getting worse, it was excruciating, unbearable. "Well, like Shakespeare wrote, in the Merchant of Venice, "I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; A stage where every man must play a part, and mine a sad one. Act one, scene one. And he wrote "As you like it," a pastoral comedy, and this famous speech comparing the world to a stage and life to a play, "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts…" Fate, which was the Director of that play – and the Director of any play on earth, chose to give him the lead part, and us secondary roles. The main actors are always highlighted in the theater, with more makeup, beautiful and very colorful clothes… That's my explanation."

He clutched his chest right above his heart and grimaced as the violent, terrible, pain radiated through him, from his pounding heart down his arm.

He squeezed his eyes closed as he felt a pressure on his chest that increased. "Goodbye J'm… see you…" he rasped, as the pain tightened even more around his heart.

His head hung limp and he darkness overcame him. He slid to the side and his rolling eyes became glassy in death.

Suddenly a mist coming out from nowhere appeared around the two agents – scaring the Paleo-Indians who fled the cave, screaming in terror.

Taking Artemus's body in his arms, Jim said, "We'll see what comes next…" and he and his dead partner, enveloped in fogginess, vanished.

Tbc.


	8. Act Four Part One

**THE NIGHT OF THE ICE COLD DEATH**

 **By Andamogirl**

 **WWW**

 **ACT FOUR**

 **Part one**

Slumped against a wall, Jim opened his eyes and his first reaction was to look at his side to see if Artemus was there – he wasn't on his right.

But he was on his left.

His best friend was lying on his side, still unconscious – and breathing.

He sighed in relief and shook his partner's shoulder, grinning happily. "Artie, wake up buddy!" He glanced around him while Artie was rousing. They were back in Loveless's hideout, outside the misty void portal-between-two-dimensions-room he noticed and the room was empty.. "Come on, Artie! You're sleeping on the job instead of working."

Opening his eyes in his turn, Artie immediately took his pulse. "I'm alive…" He pulled himself into a sitting position and glanced around him too. "And we're back. Mission accomplished. But what did we do…?"

Raising his hand, Jim said, "I know what we did, or rather what _you_ did. Those people in that ice-age needed new sophisticated tools, such as spears with a super solid, sharp point, with two cutting edges, to be able to kill more animals, bigger animals and thus be better fed, and thus be able to live better, longer and thus prosper. You brought them this new technique to make spearheads Artie – that was it!" He stood and pulled Artie up to his feet and asked, "How do you feel?"

Smiling Artie said, "Then you believe me!" and Jim nodded. "We were on a mission – your mission was to protect me from the ice-cold in that small hole in the rocks, saving my life, and I showed Araj-iit-olk how to make a perfect and deadly flint spearhead. That was my mission, you're right… I don't see what else it could be… I didn't do anything potentially useful there…"

Jim smirked and said, "Aside from letting that lovely lady how do you call her? Nee-at-tepo... touch your butt? Neither do I, Artie."

Glaring at his best friend Artie let out, "Ha-ha-ha! Very funny…" Then he pointed at the opposite door. "Let's get out of here, we have an assignment to carry out."

WWW

But the place was deserted – or almost.

The two special agents of the Secret Service found one man in Loveless's 'office', packing his things. Jim had him pinned to the floor, with a knee pressed on his chest, before he could reach for his gun.

He gave it to Artemus and asked the goon, "Where is everyone?"

Pointing the Colt at one of Loveless's henchmen, Artie growled. "Talk! I died a few moments ago and I am in a pretty bad mood!"

The man shook his head. "Loveless is going to kill me…"

Hearing his partner pull back the hammer of the gun, Jim said, "My partner here is going to kill you first. He had a bad day…"

His face like carved marble Artie nodded. "Yes, after a series of other bad days." He placed the mouth of the gun against the goon's nose. "I won't repeat it," he said, his voice cold.

The man sighed, capitulating. "Okay, they're in Phoenix. Then they will head to Washington. Dr. Loveless and Colonel Vautrain have a rendezvous in the Capital… with a man called Erikson, in a saloon not far from the railroad station, the Golden Spike. I have to bring the last of Dr. Loveless's belongings to him there. That's all I know, I swear. Please don't kill me…"

Rubbing his stubbled chin pensively, Artie said, "By the time we arrived in Phoenix, they will have taken the train to Washington… Let them go there. I want to know who this Erikson is and what Loveless and Vautrain have planned to do with him…"

Standing, Jim nodded. "Good idea…" and watching his best friend observe Loveless's blond, bearded henchman he knew he was thinking about disguising himself to look exactly like the goon. He asked the other man, "What's your name?"

The goon responded, "Harry Grahams.

Glancing at Artie Jim said, "Then Mr. Grahams… please continue what you were doing, packing your boss's belongings – but you won't take them to him – my partner will."

Grahams frowned. "But Dr. Loveless will see it's not me."

Smiling Artie said, "No he won't."

Grahams frowned, lost.

Looking at Loveless's clothes Grahams was packing into two big bags, Jim suddenly realized something, "Do you know where our clothes are?"

The henchman nodded. "Dr. Loveless asked me to pack them, along with your hats and gunbelts. He brought them with him. He told me he wanted to keep them as 'trophies'".

Re-adjusting the animal hide hiding his naked body, Artie asked, "Tell me do you have a buckboard and not only one horse…?"

Grahams nodded. "I have a buckboard… but no clothes for you."

Jim said, "When you are finished here, you'll lead us out of here, and once in Phoenix, I'll have you placed incommunicado in detention there, at Fort Sheffield. Dr. Loveless won't know where you are and you will be safe there, until he is behind bars."

WWW

 _Much later_

 _On board the Wanderer_

 _En route to Washington_

Showered, hair still a bit wet, but neatly combed and dressed in his navy blue bathrobe, Jim was leaving the bathroom to head toward the galley, AG perched on top of his shoulder, when he saw Marmalade sitting in the narrow walkway before her owner's door.

She was scratching at it, wanting to enter the small room, meowing in worry.

He frowned in concern, something was wrong… and then he heard the first notes of music – coming from an Indian flute.

His concern mutated into worry. He knew that when Artie was playing his flute instead of his violin, he was in a bad mood or unhappy and sad. It helped him to relax, to feel better. He could spend hours in the galley preparing all kind of delicious things too, but not today.

He knocked at the door. "Artie, you okay in there?"

No response. "Can I come in?"

The music continued. He knocked again, and Artemus didn't stop playing his flute. Deeply worried, Jim decided to enter.

The door wasn't locked.

Marmie immediately dashed inside.

Jim found his best friend dressed in his pajamas, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his sleeping compartment, on a blanket. His hair was sticking out, he was pale and his eyes were closed.

Marmalade leaped on her owner's lap and Artie lowered his flute and opened his eyes. "Good morning, Jim," he said looking up.

Noticing that the bed was a mess before sitting on it, he said "Good morning Artie. Let me guess, you had very bad nightmares."

Petting his cat's back, eliciting loud purrs, Artie nodded. "I was plagued by nightmares all night long… it's a normal thing after what happened to me. I died saving the President's life – but didn't, I was tortured, I almost died from exposure in that glass box, I died from a heart attack – and was brought back… My nerves are shattered. I need to relax."

Furrowing his brow Jim said, "I didn't hear you last night… I usually do when you have a nightmare. The partition is not thick between our beds."

Smiling sheepishly, Artie said, "Maybe it has something to do with the sedative I put in your coffee last night. I knew I would have horrible dreams and I didn't want you to stay at my side all my night long, mother-henning me, deeply worried and not sleeping because of me. You have had enough action too, Jim, and you needed rest. I'm sorry. But it was the only solution."

Upset Jim raised a threatening finger. "Don't ever do that again! It is normal that I worry about you and that I take care of you when you are unwell, you are my partner and my best friend, and…" He stopped when he saw tears appear in Artie's red-rimmed eyes. "It is not because of what I told you that you are shaken, right? What did you see in your nightmares?"

Feeling her owner's distress Marmalade raised herself on her hind legs, resting her front legs on Artie's chest and licked his chin.

He took her in his arms and she snuggled there, purring. "I only remember a few images… My mom was standing beside my open grave. She was watching my coffin; laid at the bottom of the hole… she was crying her eyes out in Harry's arms. I was lying inside my coffin – alive – and screaming, "I'm back! I'm back! Please help me!" but no one could her me. Then… somehow I managed to break the lid with my bleeding fists, and as I was leaving my grave... My mom collapsed to the ground, dead of a broken heart…" Tears were now running freely down his pale cheeks. He closed his eyes. "I have never been so utterly bereft in my whole life ... no, I have already been, after my father's death. I adored my dad. I miss him so much…"

Placing a soothing hand on his best friend's shoulder, pressing it, Jim said, "I know. It was just a very bad dream, Artie. Helena's fine."

He nodded. "I know. I hope she will never have to live this, I know she would die." He mopped his tears with the back of his sleeve.

Placing AG on Artie's lap, Jim watched the kitten climb on Marmie's back before sneaking between Artie's pajama jacket and his skin.

The mini feline poked his head between two buttons, meowed, claiming the place as his and then started his exploration, moving from Artemus's belly to his side. Then he began to he climb the broad back, using his needle-like claws- making Artie wince.

Smiling Artemus took off his stripped pajamas top before scooping up AG who had reached his shoulder. "Come here little furry buddy…" then he kissed the cat's tiny black nose and placed the ball of fluff on top of his head, where the mini cat loved to be. Pleased, AG made his 'nest' there and started purring. He smiled. "Nothing is better than playing with a cat to cheer up you…"

Petting his cat between his ears, Jim nodded. "I agree." He stood and added, "Stay here playing with the cats, I'm going to prepare breakfast."

Falsely irritated, Artie said, "Are you trying to kill me too Jim? I died far too many times already. No, I'm going to prepare breakfast." He scooped AG from his head and lowered him to his chest – before the kitten slipped inside his pajama top, again. "It will help me to relax."

Tbc.


	9. Act Four Part Two

**THE NIGHT OF THE ICE COLD DEATH**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT FOUR**

 **Part two**

 _Later_

Holding a tray containing a pot of fresh coffee, two cups, a pot of milk, a butter dish and several pots of homemade jams, Artemus entered the parlor suite… and stopped dead in his tracks. The table, the chairs, the sofas and the armchair had been moved along the bulkheads, freeing up space.

He huffed. Jim did this only when he wanted to train in hand to hand combat with him – or boxing, but there was no punching bag hanging from the top of the car.

He placed the tray on the table and was ready to search for Jim when the door opened and his partner appeared, holding two plump pillows in his arms.

Marmalade was following him and AG was, as usual, perched on his owner's shoulder.

The older man frowned, crossing his arms on his chest. "I'm hungry. I want to eat the breakfast I prepared peacefully, I don't want to fight against you," he grumbled.

Placing AG on the sofa, where Marmie joined him, Jim threw a pillow at his best friend who caught it. "Still grumpy, I see. I knew that playing your flute and preparing breakfast wouldn't be enough to help you to release all that pent up tension in you, Artie. You need to be less tense, buddy, and I thought about us fighting… but not with a sword, or a knife, but with pillows."

Raising and arching a surprised eyebrow Artie asked, "A pillow fight? It's a bit childish don't you think? Where the hell did you get that idea?"

Moving in front of his partner, Jim said, "From you. You told me once that when you were a boy, and mad at something or someone, you had pillow fights with your dad, and you felt much better after that, all the tension was gone." And he attacked. He hit Artemus square in the face with his pillow, the air rushing from the other man's lungs in a surprised umphh. Then took a step back, with a wicked grin on his face, waiting for Artie's move, ready to counterattack. "Got you, Artie!"

Grabbing his fluffy weapon, Artemus narrowed his eyes and said with a playful note in his voice, "James my boy, you'll regret starting this war."

It was Artie's turn to attack: he faked a lunge to the left before launching himself right at his best friend… who dodged the blow.

He pivoted in a split second and smacked Jim's back.

Turning around to face his opponent, Jim said, "Only hits to the face count. West 1, Gordon 0," he said before smiling.

Still smiling, Jim lunged at Artemus who immediately ducked as his adversary swung his fluffy weapon wildly, before slamming his own pillow into Jim's face with a loud thwack.

Surprised, Jim stumbled back a bit and Artie said, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "Gordon 1! And I'm gonna win."

Pulling back, Jim took a swing toward his best friend.

Artie dodged it at the last moment. "You shouldn't have chosen a pillow fight, pal. I have years of training behind me…"

Jim chuckled. "That was a long time ago. You're rusty, buddy."

The younger swung at Artemus, and Artie held his own pillow up with both hand to block his partner's attack, the pillows connecting with each other.

With a grin, Jim propelled Artie backward toward the couch. Then he smacked the other man hard in the gut and then hit his face.

Both men swung their plush pillows at the same time, hitting each other back and forth, landing blows wherever they could.

It didn't hurt of course.

Frightened, the cats bolted for the other side of the room, sitting under the work table and they stayed there, staring with curiosity at their owners pummeling each other with the pillows - pillows that spewed their contents everywhere on impact.

Laughing, Artemus hit Jim across the head with his pillow with all his might and Jim stumbled sideways. "I'm gonna win, I'm the best!" he said.

Suppressing a curse, Jim lost his footing, and fell over the back of the couch, onto the golden cushions, and then rolled onto the floor gracelessly. Taking advantage of the situation, Artie disarmed Jim of his pillow in a matter of seconds and then brought his own pillow down onto his best friend's head repeatedly, laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

But Jim didn't like to lose, so he launched a new offensive: he used an arm to block Artie's hits to his face and while Artemus was busy slamming his head over and over again with his pillow – clouds of new feathers escaping the envelope and flying everywhere – he discreetly snaked his foot around the other man's left ankle, and pulled, hard.

Surprised, Artie let out a gasp and crashed down to the carpeted floor. "Not fair! You cheated!" He exclaimed, upset.

Grinning in victory Jim grabbed his pillow before moving to straddle him. "You didn't say we couldn't do that, buddy." Then he held the pillow over his partner's head and pushed it down over his face. "Do you yield, Major Gordon?"

Shaking his head, Artie wrapped his arms around Jim's torso and he flipped them over so that he was on top of his partner. "No way, Major West."

He grabbed Jim's pillow and raised it, into the air as if it were a sword, ready to strike and it folded down the middle from the lack of stuffing. "Damn!"

Laughing, Jim shoved Artie off of him and Artemus fell backwards laughing too. Both of them had their cheeks flushed and were breathing heavily.

Marmalade moved on top of her owner's chest and started to lick his jawline in a comfort gesture. "I'm fine, Marmie, I'm fine."

In his turn AG the tiny kitten climbed on Jim's chest and started to play with the feathers covering his owner's blue waistcoat.

Smiling, Jim turned his head toward Artemus, grinning. "Feeling better?" he asked, even if he knew the evident answer.

Petting Marmalade, Artie nodded. "Yes, thank you."

Pulling himself into a sitting position, Jim nestled AG against his chest. "I didn't surrender," he said. "Then, you didn't win."

Imitating his best friend, Artie settled Marmalade on his lap. "I'm still fit to fight." His stomach rumbled in hunger. He smiled. "Maybe another time, I'm famished."

WWW

 _Five days later,_

 _Hillsborough Station, twenty miles from Washington DC_

It was raining.

Looking like Harry Grahams, Artie attached the bags containing Loveless's belongings to his saddle and then he mounted Lockpick.

He glanced at Jim mounting his stallion Blackjack and chuckled. He had transformed his partner into a red-headed and bearded man, wearing spectacles. Jim was wearing a dull brown tweed costume and had a bowler had on his head. "You're perfect. No one is going to recognize you."

Scratching his itchy fake-beard Jim said, "The last time you disguised me I ended up wearing a red dress, looking like a woman."

Grabbing the reins, Artie smiled. "Yes, I remember, and you were gorgeous! And it was our first mission together at Petersburg. I remember it very well." He glanced at the Wanderer, immobile beside the train platform. "I would have liked to arrive in Washington by train. Riding in cold rain is not what I prefer."

Hitting his horse's sides, Jim said, "We couldn't. Loveless has spies everywhere in Washington, and the Wanderer is easy to identify. That's why we stopped here. Our arrival has to stay secret if we want to arrest Loveless, Vautrain and their men. And that's why you disguised me… as your cousin from New York, Elmer Stanford, salesman in all kinds of ties…"

Moving his bay horse close to his partner's, Artie said, "It's better than porcelain door handles believe me… I tried that cover once, but it didn't work. Yes, if you are asked, you're my cousin Elmer from New York and we met by accident on the train to Washington. You want a change of life, to become another man, to live dangerously ... I hope Loveless will accept you at my side as a new recruit… Elmer is dull, empty-headed, just like Loveless loves his henchmen. But if we can't meet him together, then I'll have to act all alone. I have my small gun and mini-bombs in my sleeves filled with a powerful and ultra-rapid knock-out gas… it should be enough to neutralize him and everyone else. I'll give you the usual signal if I am in danger and the usual signal if the mission is accomplished." He glanced at Blackjack's passe-partout saddle. "And that neutral saddle goes with the character. He smiled and added, "I know that you regret your shiny saddle, but it wasn't suited to your role and, like our train, it is very recognizable."

Jim nodded. "So is Lockpick. That white patch of hairs on his head is unique…"

Rubbing his gelding's neck with affection, Artemus nodded. "Yes, I know. That's why I used waterproof makeup to make it disappear."

Lockpick huffed and shook his head.

Smiling Jim said, "He doesn't like that."

WWW

 _Much later,_

 _Golden Spike saloon, Washington DC_

Harry Grahams (Artemus Gordon) and Elmer Stanford (James West) entered the saloon together, holding two heavy bags each. They immediately spotted two of Loveless's goons and one of Vautrain's experts in torture sitting at a table sipping a beer and playing cards.

Faux Grahams beckoned to them. Then he headed toward the bar while Stanford stayed beside a table, looking around him, feigning curiosity.

The bartender placed a glass filled with whisky on the counter and, bending down, gave a friendly pat on the other man's shoulder. Welcome back, Harry! You took your time!"

Dropping the bags at his feet Artie nodded and using the same voice as Grahams, he said, "It's a long way from Phoenix!" He swallowed the whiskey in one go and turning toward Jim, he added, "This is my cousin Elmer. He's a salesman but would like to have a more exciting life…"

The bartender looked at Stanford from head to toe and nodded. "Dr. Loveless always needs men at his service, and I could use some help here. Can you vouch for him?"

Nodding, Artie said, "Yes." He tapped his empty glass and the other man refilled it. "I need to give these bags to Dr. Loveless."

The bartender shook his head. "Not now, he has an important meeting with Colonel Vautrain and members of that MEOPG group in the basement… He doesn't want to be disturbed."

Doing his best to hide his excitement, Artie thought: 'Loveless, Vautrain and the MEOPG group… people who want to kill President Grant, what luck!' He nodded. "I understand, but Dr. Loveless left some very important papers in his room. I have them here, with me, in that bag. If he needs them and I do not give it to him, he'll fire me and I don't want to be fired. Please?"

The bartender nodded. "Okay, but your cousin stays here. You know where it is right?"

Smiling Artie nodded. "Sure!" He glanced at Jim and winked at him meaning, let's go! grabbed his two bags and headed toward the back door.

He entered a small room filled with cases of whiskey and bourbon but with no door. He didn't see any hatch either. But there was a large shelf placed against the wall, covered with piles of dusty glasses and lots of empty bottles.

He dropped the bags to the floor.

He smiled. "Certainly hiding a secret passage leading to the basement," he said to himself. "Let's find the opening mechanism…"

He found a button under the lowest board, between two empty bottles of whiskey – and pressed on it. There was a click and the shelf slid to the side.

He verified if the holster strapped to his calf containing his small gun was still in place, if the mini-bombs filled with the knocked out gas were in place in his sleeves, and they were. He glanced at his ring, whose false turquoise contained a very powerful anesthetic and pressing on the side, released a short, thin needle. Then, he went down the stairs leading to the basement.

The shelf moved back into place.

He was intercepted on his arrival at the foot of the stairs by one of the two brutes who had tortured him. His eyes flashed with anger and he tightened his fist.

He was ready to jump at his throat when he remembered his character, Harry Grahams, one of Loveless's henchmen.

He forced himself to smile and to relax. "Hello, I'm Harry…"

The hulky man lowered his gun. "I know who you are. What do you want? They don't want to be disturbed. Come back later."

Feigning interest, Artie said, "What a beautiful gun… it's a 1861 Navy Colt May I see it?" and the goon reached out – placing his gun in Artie's hand. Smiling, Artie used his trick ring to inject a tiny dose of anesthetic in the hulky man's hand, but sufficient to knock out a horse.

Rubbing the back of his hand, Vautrain's henchman said, "Something stung me…" He stumbled backward and collapsed to the floor.

Grabbing the brute's arms, Artie pulled him behind a pile of crates, hiding him there and then he headed toward the back door.

A mini-bomb in his palm, he took a deep breath, knocked at the door and entered… to find himself face to face with a dozen people sitting around a big table. They were all wearing a long black tunic over their clothes, but they were not judges.

He recognized two ex-confederate senior officers – those who had thrown him in the river - a senator who, he knew, wanted the President's seat of POTUS for years, two very wealthy businessmen, and the under-secretary of state. As for the others, he didn't know them.

He looked down at the little man seated close to him, at the end of the table, Voltaire standing beside him, towering over him. "I'm sorry to interrupt you but…"

Raising his hand, frowning, upset, Loveless said, "Later, Grahams. And I hope you have a good reason to be here and interrupt this session of the MEOPG group." Then, he placed a canvas bag on the table and added, "I have very good news, gentlemen. James West and Artemus Gordon are dead. Really dead this time." He pointed at Colonel Vautrain and added, "Colonel Vautrain used his fabulous power – and he really has a fabulous power, believe me – to send the two pesky agents, who have been thorns in my side for years, a long, long, time ago, in the past. They're dead."

Senator Cawfield frowned doubtfully and turned toward Vautrain who looked very proud of himself. "In the past? Do you mean that they have traveled in time?"

Colonel Vautrain nodded. "Yes, I sent them back in time, about 10,000 years in the past. I won't say they're dead, because we can't know if they survived 10,000 years in the past, or not, but they won't come back; I won't bring them back this time. Good riddance!"

Loveless nodded and pulled out a few things from his bag, he showed to the others. "And as proof of what the Colonel has just said, here is… James West's famous gunbelt and his famous rattle snake Colt, and his hat… and ID card from the Secret Service and… this is Artemus Gordon's gunbelt, with his Colt, monogrammed AG on its handle, and his hat…I kept them as a souvenir."

Moving toward the table Artie, with his own voice, said, "I'm really sorry to disappoint you but…" He grabbed his gunbelt and fastened it around his waist in a flash. "But I'm not dead." He moved back then and pointed his Colt at Loveless. "You're under arrest, Loveless, as is everyone here."

Miguelito Loveless recognized Artie's voice and gaped in total and utter surprise and was left speechless, but it didn't last. "Artemus Gordon, no…" the diminutive man croaked.

Smiling, Artie pointed his gun at the ceiling and fired, twice. "Yes, _moi_." Then before anyone could react he threw the mini-bomb to the floor.

It exploded and instantly, a thick cloud of red smoke filled the room.

Hearing the two gunshots, Jim pulled out his gun from his shoulder hoslter and pointed it toward the four men sitting around the table. "Hands up!" then he gave a loud whistle and about twenty armed policemen invaded the place.

He had rushed to the back room, found the hidden passage in one minute tops and entered the basement room shortly after.

He knelt beside Artie, crumpled beside the big table and took his pulse. He was breathing steadily, sleeping soundly.

Like Loveless, Voltaire, Vautrain and everyone else there.

He grinned. "Great job, Artie."

Tbc.


	10. Tag

**THE NIGHT OF THE ICE COLD DEATH**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **TAG**

 _Much later_

 _The Wanderer_

Head resting on his fist, Artemus Gordon was trying to stay awake.

His head was pounding and felt like it was splitting in half – and even the noise of Jim buttering his toast was too loud.

He winced. "Oh boy! I feel like someone has stuffed the old noggin' full of tapioca…" he whispered. "All I want is to sleep until next year, maybe next century."

Pouring Artie a new cup of his James West molasses-like-coffee-special, Jim said, "If it can console you, all the others are in the same state as you - and they are in prison. All, except Vautrain. As he can use his power to flee into time, into the past or the future, as you know, he was placed in an asylum, where he will be well treated, but where he will be constantly drugged to make him incapable of having a coherent thought about using his power, to prevent him from fleeing... We did it, buddy!"

Artie groaned. ""Shh! Too loud..."

Toning down his voice, Jim continued, "We did it! Loveless, Vautrain and all their men are behind bars, and the MEOPG group members are in a cell too and like the others waiting to be tried. Colonel Richmond is ecstatic and the President very happy and immensely relieved."

Grimacing, Artie took up his cup, drinking his partner's version of coffee slowly. "You should put some water in your coffee, y'know… it would help." He forced himself to finish his cup and burying his face in his hands he said, "I think I'll go back to my bed, until I feel better… I should have stayed in it." And he stood.

He was dragging himself toward the door leading to the narrow walkway when there was a knock at the door, and he grimaced, his head throbbing back in disagreement.

Before Jim could stand, the door opened and Ulysses S. Grant entered the room, looking cheerful. "Good day gentlemen!"

Standing, Jim smiled and replied, "Good day Mr. President, " and he moved forward to take Grant's hat and coat damp with rain. "Welcome on board, Sir."

Feeling instantly better at the sight of Ulysses S. Grant he loved like a surrogate father, Artemus headed toward the President. "Welcome on board Sir. It's a pleasure to see you."

Grant smiled broadly and said, "It's a pleasure to see you both too," and he shook his agents's hands vigorously and warmly. "Jim, Artemus, you did a great job in arresting Loveless and Vautrain and their accomplices and the members of the MEOPG group." He fished around in the pockets of his jacket (loaded with two dozen cigars, a day's supply, like during the war), taking out three long, thick, cigars and a small pocket knife. He opened it and clipped the end of the cigars off, then handed one to Artie and one to Jim.

Both smiling, they said in a chorus, "Thank you, Sir."

Smiling too, Grant said, "It's always pleasure to share a good cigar with you, gentlemen," and he pocketing the small knife. Then he raised his cigar to his mouth, placing it between his teeth. "Especially after a successful mission."

Both Artie and Jim imitated the older man, sticking the cigar between their own teeth.

Artie nodded. "We did that a lot of times during the war, Sir, after I came back from my espionage missions in enemy territory."

Ulysses S. Grant pulled out a box of matches from his breast coat pocket, scratched one against the work table and lighted up his cigar before lighting the two men's. "Yes, I remember. There were little moments of peace and tranquility in the tumult and the destruction of war…"

Both Jim and Artie said "Thank you Sir", at the same time again and it made Grant chuckle. "I came here to congratulate you personally, gentlemen… and to tell you that I will give you a citation for this outstanding work and personal involvement…" He stared at Artie and added, "and sacrifices to protect me."

Looking at Artie whose eyes were haunted, as he remembered what had happened to him plus his nightmares, Jim said, "Thank you very much Sir… Artie, perhaps you could prepare some decent coffee and maybe some cakes for the President… In the meantime I will tell the President, in detail all that happened and that is not in the report, okay?"

Needing to regain control of himself, Artemus nodded. He gave Jim a smile back to thank him for that, and headed toward the galley.

Hearing that, Grant frowned a bit upset. "I thought your report was very detailed… Alright. Tell me what you didn't include in your report. I want to know everything" He took a deep drag from his big cigar and puffed out a long, slow breath of smoke.

WWW

 _Two weeks later,_

 _Charlotte cemetery, North Carolina_

Standing in front of the grave covered with grass and wild flowers, Artie said, "That's pretty strange…looking at his own grave."

Placing a comforting hand on his best friend's shoulder Jim nodded and read the fading inscription on the mossy headstone, 'Jack Maitland, _disappeared_ , September 20, 1829'... Well, he disappeared, that's right. After he was dead, after you were dead, I brought you with me into the future. And we know exactly when we left to go back to our time, now. September 20, 1829."

Artie nodded. "It took me weeks of intense research to finally find him… and curiously he was buried in Charlotte like in Vautrain's lie…"

Jim nodded. "It's a coincidence. Now let's find someone who knew Jack Maitland ... and it could be very difficult. He has been dead for 46 years."

Suddenly they heard someone ask, "You wish to have information about Jack Maitland?"  
I can assist you. I knew him." It was a voice of elderly woman, quivering.

They both turned around and saw an old woman head in their direction, with the help of a cane.

She suddenly stopped, paled and frightened she cried out, "Dear God! You're ghosts!" and she started to move back, now terrified.

But Artie rushed toward her and took her hand. "I'm not a ghost, see? My hand is warm. I'm very much alive and my friend is, too."

He glanced at Jim and said, "I don't believe in coincidences… but in Fate. We had to come here, now, to meet this Lady, to know what happened."

The old woman touched Artemus's face with a trembling hand. "You're not him, but you you look exactly like him… like Jack Maitland. I thought he had come back from the dead… Are you his son?"

Pressing the old woman's frail hand in his, Artie lied, "Yes I am. My name is Artemus. I came here to know what happened to my father. I knew he had disappeared but that's all… my mother never knew what happened. She was pregnant with me when he disappeared."

The old woman looked up at Jim. "And you, Sir, you look exactly like your father too. That's incredible!" She smiled. "My name is Martha Edison. Your father was a good man. He was courageous and noble. He spent three days here in Charlotte before… that duel. He was so admired and popular that people wanted to invite him to dine at home. He had to make cards to give to the people, on which he had to note the time when he would come to see them. I know it because it was my father who was a printer who produced them ... "She blushed." I found Jack Maitland beautiful, elegant, strong…" She cleared her throat and continued, "He was traveling to Washington when he saved a pregnant woman and her husband traveling in a mail-coach to the North from bandits who wanted to steal them and probably kill them after. He wasn't armed, but used his fists to knock two of them unconscious, took a gun and managed to make the others flee. He was hit on his head in the fight… He lost consciousness for a few minutes and then he got into a mail-coach to Charlotte with its passengers because he no longer remembered where his horse was. The bandits probably stole it as it was never found."

The two agents exchanged a glance. They now knew how Jack Maitland 'was born'. The blow to the head had triggered a concussion followed by amnesia.

Mrs. Edison said, "It's good to see that you are friends. Because your fathers didn't like each other even if they were distant relatives, cousins, I believe. Mr. Danford was surprised to discover that Mr. Maitland was his cousin from Charleston."

Jim suddenly remembered that Jack Maitland had called him, "country cousin", acting superior and with a condescending tone. "Yes, we are – distant cousins."

Puzzled Artie frowned. Jim winked at him and mouthed, 'I'll explain later," as he recalled too that he hadn't told that detail to Artie.

He remembered too that when Artie had played 'Jack Maitland' on an assignment, Jim had played a role too: his distant cousin. Then when Artie–Jack Maitland had met Danford who looked like him like a twin, he had immediately thought he was his cousin, and told him he was.

Mrs. Edison continued, "It is what the coachman told to everyone after the arrival of the mail-coach to Charlotte. Jack Maitland was welcomed like a hero." She frowned, searching through her memory. "The man in the mail-coach was called Gordon… I'm sorry, but I don't remember his first name, but he was a pharmacist, and his wife was called Helena… they were living in the North…"

Intense stupefaction appeared on Artie's face. "They were heading north, to Green Hill, a small town not far from Galena, Illinois…"

Martha Edison was very surprised in her turn. "Yes, exactly. How do you know?"

Looking at Jim, Artemus said in a low voice, "My father told me that story once, when I was a boy. Mom and he had visited friends in Charleston before heading here. But I don't remember he told me that mom and he were saved from bandits by a man called Maitland though… " He sighed. "I know now why I came here – or why fate sent me here in September 1829. I had to save my parents and myself… It was my mission."

Frowning, puzzled, Jim asked in a low voice too, "Okay, but why did your mother never make the connection between you and Maitland?"

Looking down at the old woman Artie asked, "Did Mrs. Gordon see Mr. Maitland?"

Mrs. Edison shook her head. "No, she didn't. The poor thing was very ill and had taken a potion to sleep. The Gordons left for the north an hour after their arrival at Charlotte." She sighed and shook her head sadly. "Two days later, Harrison Danford… " She looked at Jim. "Harrison Danford, your father – who was jealous of your Mr. Maitland's popularity, insulted him during a soirée at the Mayor's place, organized to congratulate thank him for his courageous act."

Curious, Jim asked, "What did he tell him?"

Martha Edison sighed. "I'm not surprised he didn't tell you this. It was a shame! He pretended that Jack Maitland looked at his fiancée too closely, for the pleasure of humiliating him. But jack did not appreciate this lie, as he was a gentleman, and provoked Danford into a duel, with the choice of the weapon as he was the one insulted. He gave Danford his card and rendezvoused the next morning at dawn near the Catwamba River. There was a duel between the two and bandits interrupted it after they killed that poor old Mr. Levering… People who were there when the bandits attacked fled… and sometime later they saw Mr. Danford leave the town in a hurry… When they came back to retrieve the bodies – they knew Mr. Levering was dead and thought Mr. Maitland was dead too… they found only one corpse. Jack Maitland had disappeared… We don't know exactly what happened. His horse was found, but not his body… People thought the bandits threw him in the Catwamba River and they searched for him, but his body was never recovered. I'm sorry, that's what happened, Mr. Maitland. I wish you a good day, and to you too, Mr. Danford." She smiled and then left, Heading toward the entrance to the cemetery arched on her cane, with slow steps.

Looking down at Jack Maitland's grave, a last time, Artemus said, "My father died when I was a boy… He couldn't see the resemblance between his son and Jack Maitland… as for my mom, she didn't see him - me." He rubbed a hand over his face. "End of Jack Maitland's story."

Patting Artie's arm in a comforting gesture, Jim said, "End of that whole story with Colonel Vautrain. Let's go back to the Wanderer. I think you need a shot of whiskey – maybe two, and I do too."

Feeling better at that good idea, Artie nodded. "And a good cigar. Harrison Danford? Someone from your family, Jim?"

Jim shook his head. "I do not know, I will ask my parents if that name rings a bell. Let's go Artie. Cemeteries are depressing."

WWW

 _Two weeks later_

 _St. Francis Mental Asylum_

 _Washington_

Noel Bartley Vautrain hid a smile when the orderly entered his cell, holding a syringe containing the drug which stunned him. What the other man did not know, and what the doctor did not know, was that he quickly got used to the drug. The usual dose no longer had any effect on him.

His brain worked perfectly.

He let the other man get close… pretending to be half asleep, and all of a sudden he hit the orderly in his stomach. He snatched the syringe from his hands and thrust the needle into his neck and then injected the drug into his veins.

Once the orderly was passed out on the floor, he took a deep breath and placed his hands in front of his face. He concentrated, called on to his power... and a few seconds later… he vanished.

The end.


End file.
